Hermione Granger and the Serpent's Renaissance
by epsi10n
Summary: They didn't question why Hermione Granger was able to cast every spell in the first class, or why she seemed to know Hogwarts: A History by heart. They never really noticed her resourcefulness, determination or cunning. A Gryffindor meant for Ravenclaw, they called her- and yet...Who would've thought that once upon a time, her name was Salazar? Reincarnation fic
1. Prologue

**A.N.: Just to be safe (?) : No profit is being made from this, and all characters belong to JK Rowling. **

_'__What in the seven hells happened to self-preservation?'_ Salazar Slytherin asked himself, though his hands continued to move deftly over the well-used cauldron without a pause.

_'__Evaporate the excess fluid. Watch for the change in optical property that indicates saturation. Remove from heat.'_

This was the product of fifteen long years of research – conceived in ideas so genius that even Rowena may be jealous, and gestated in experimental trials so patient that even Helga may find difficult. And now, he was about to pull off a feat so reckless that even Godric would hesitate.

_'__Cast the final spell. Seal the magic. Transfer into a clean flask and check consistency…'_

Admittedly, he had but a vague guess at what would happen, and there would be no way to control it once it started. If his theories and conjectures had been correct, his being would dissipate into the ether until it would pull itself back together and begin anew. There was no telling how long this would be, or who he would become.

Not a comforting thought, as control had always been very important to him.

And yet, he absolutely _must_ know...

Was it not true that someone had to try something drastic, once in a while, to further their civilization's understanding of magic? With no family, no ties, no greater goal in mind than this... it wasn't as if he had much to lose. Now was as good a time as any, he supposed.

_'__Bottoms up,'_ he grinned, and swallowed the potion in one long draught.

And he was gone.

* * *

Nearly a millennium later, a baby girl was born to a pair of proud new parents. Being both avid admirers of Shakesphear's plays, the list of girls' names they'd prepared was long indeed: Juliet, the loved; Ophelia, the pure; Emilia, the strong; Titania, the fairy queen; etc, etc.

But the moment their daughter opened her eyes, they knew exactly who to name her after.

Charming. Eloquent. Quick witted, and incredibly clever. Mind, perhaps a little too brilliant for her own good, said Dr. Olivia Granger to her husband. The poor queen from The Winter's Tale did have to suffer terrible accusations of crimes that she did not commit, and the people all thought she died in disgrace.

But, Dr. Jean Granger pointed out, it turned out that she either came back to life or never really died...

His wife agreed, and so the name of their daughter was decided.

Hermione.

The girl was to be named Hermione.

* * *

_Dear Hermione Jean Granger,_

_'__What the - ? What happened? And how is it that I suddenly remember two lifetimes?'_

_Congratulations. We are writing to you to offer you a place in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…_

_'__Letter of acceptance. The Hogwarts seal. So that's what set it off…'_

"Hermione, dear, what's that strange letter you've got? It doesn't look like junk, does it?"

_'__Show mother the letter. Use the opportunity to recollect memories and thoughts. Hermione Granger, eleven years old. Daughter of dentists Jean and Olivia Granger. Muggleborn witch. Live in London, 1991… But formerly Lord Salazar Slytherin. Professor, inventor, potioneer, duellist. Founder of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Reincarnation potion successful. Theory of souls confirmed.' _"Mum? I… I know you won't believe this, but… it says I'm a witch!"

Father choked on his coffee. "What?"

"It's probably a joke," said Hermione, despite knowing perfectly well that it was not. There was no way she could explain this without the help of a current professor.

"A very elaborate one at that," said mother with raised eyebrows, as she and father got ready to leave for the clinic. There were patients to see, and they'd better hurry if they wanted to be on time for the first appointment.

Soon, Hermione was left alone to stare at the brown textured parchment of the letter and nurse her buzzing head. It felt a little as if her brain was filled with static, really, or as if she was in a trance. And she was fairly certain that she might've screamed had she not grounded herself with the realization that all this was certainly, definitely real.

The world had changed, that much was certain. '_And what a world it is…_'

* * *

**A.N.: An overview of the story:**

**\- Year 1 basically consists of Salazar pretending to be a normal girl (Canon!Hermione) in all respects and interfering as little as possible, with a few "side missions" that don't affect Harry very much (yet). As a result, it will follow canon _very very_ closely, as much as logic allows in fact. If you're interested in ****the multitude of similarities between Canon!Hermione and a reincarnated Salazar Slytherin**** then you'll probably like it. If you find it boring and are more interested in how Salazar can change the modern wizarding world, though, feel free to skip to...**

**\- Year 2, which diverges from canon and revolves around Salazar trying to clear his/her name and fix his - er, her- legacy by pulling strings from the shadows. There will be many funny moments here, I think, and will be fairly lighthearted. **

**\- Year 3 will be less funny and more emotional, with a little bit of angst even. And maybe a bit of suspense too. Haven't entirely decided yet.**

**\- Year 4,5,6 (if I get that far) will see more action + romance (?), finally culminating in the death of He-who-has-no-nose :D**


	2. Year 1: Debutant(e) again

...

-~sSs~-

**Year 1: Debutant(e) once more**

-~sSs~-

By the time her parents returned home, her headache had resolved itself into the form of questions – lots and lots of them.

On the one hand, what had become of the wizards and witches? How many of them were living? There shouldn't have been any more conflicts with the muggles, or she would've heard about it. How had the fledgling magical "society" grown since Salazar had left it? Dare she hope that it had evolved as tremendously as the muggle one, having carefully concealed itself to maintain its peace as Salazar had urged them to do? Surely they hadn't once again dissolved, leaving most magical families isolated from each other as they had been before Hogwarts fixed that somewhat?

And how was Hogwarts? She was glad they hadn't felt the need to rename it something more "respectable". (Never mind that the founders only named the school this way to spite some irritating nobles.) Did they still teach the same classes? In Latin, the language of magic in Salazar's time? Or English, the common tongue? How many students did they have now?

On the other hand, how would her parents – Jean and Olivia Granger – feel about the existence of magic? The muggles that Salazar used to contend with blamed magic for everything beyond their tiny circle of understanding, and would burn their own children in a heartbeat. Hermione did not believe her parents would hurt her, however. Besides, with the renewed interest in the scientific principles since the Renaissance era, muggles had actually managed to become miraculously enlightened, and societies had become far more civilized that Salazar had thought possible… But it was much more difficult to tell whether people had become more tolerant. Or, more importantly, whether her muggle parents would still treat her the same way.

Fortunately, a large part of her questions were answered by the arrival of the very patient Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, from their fire place.

Hermione thought her very patient, because it probably hadn't been easy to alternatingly convince the Dr. Grangers that magic wasn't a hoax, as well as answer her own multitude of questions on various aspects of the magical world.

The professor's method of arrival was apparently called the Floo network, which utilized fire and fireplaces to transport witches and wizards between establishments. However, the most common mean of transportation was still apparition. Hogwarts had a headmaster and a deputy headmistress now, as well as a head of house for each of the houses Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin. The headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, was a powerful and world renowned wizard. (Hermione had gathered as much from his various titles.) The largest magical market in Britain was the Diagon Alley, which was a small hidden network of streets and stores and no longer the haphazard collection of stalls and peddlers that used to gather outside Gringotts.

"We must go there the first thing on Sunday!" mother clasped her hands excitedly. Evidently, she was as eager to see the magical community as Hermione herself. Hermione found this very comforting. Her parents' various possible responses to magic was another worry that she could let go of for the time being.

But it was clear that she must pay a visit to Diagon Alley first, alone.

She needed to regain her bearings. Salazar's strong need for control - which she'd actually managed to forget in her second childhood - was beginning to resurface again, causing her to become increasingly aware that she was currently rather short on both magic and information. Grilling Professor McGonagal about magic, as patient as the older witch was, would be far from enough. She needed to be able to explore the nooks and crannys of the magical community unrestrained, and as soon as possible, so that she could get a comprehensive picture of its situation and what threats remained before she accidentally makes a mistake.

And she needed her wand. That was a priority.

The next day, after her parents had left for the clinic, Hermione hopped onto the Underground and headed for central London. The small pub named the Leaky Cauldron was easy enough to find, and she'd easily followed a tall man into the Alley. Magic had changed very little. Certainly there were some small inventions here and there, and definite improvements to the broom, which Godric had been so keen on perfecting. Nevertheless, there were no great mind-bending changes that matched the ones in the muggle world. _'Have we grown stagnant, as a people?'_

But regardless, the sight of witches and wizards bustling to and fro in the cobblestone street put her in high spirits, as it would not have been possible a millennium ago. True, the more powerful magical families were able to learn of one another and interact, but most people would live their entire lives without ever meeting another witch or wizard.

Hermione smiled. From this perspective, they'd come quite far after all.

The Gringott goblins were as annoying as she remembered them. They didn't spare her a single glance when she approached the tellers, and made a point to ignore her when she tried to get their attention. They visibly started when she announced what she'd wanted though.

A goblin peered down condescendingly at her from behind his gold-rimmed glasses. Hermione was slightly impressed, since he'd managed to pull it off in the process of falling off his stool. "The box that _Salazar Slytherin_ entrusted to us?"

"You heard right, Griphook. Oh look, I've learned your name. I've really been standing around for a rather long time, haven't I? "

Griphook's face reappeared behind the counter with an incredulous sneer. "You are asking for a legendary item that has been with the goblins of Gringott for centuries, girl! What gives you the right?"

Of course, all this had been planned for. "I have the passcode," she told him simply.

Griphook looked like he'd rather believe that it was going to rain gold today, though he brought out the object in question nevertheless. Propping her chin up against the high counter, Hermione inspected the small silver box that had been rudely pushed at her. She could see that it was still intact - well polished, in fact, despite signs of forced entry attempts. Most of them initiated by the tellers themselves, probably. Hermione caught Griphook's gaze and smirked.

Like _hell _would Salazar allow him to open the box "entrusted to him". It was protected by some of the most powerful locking charms in existence.

She ran a slender finger over the engraved snake on the lid, whispering to it in nearly silent parseltongue. "_Remember me?"_

The lid slid open, glowing green.

And Hermione made sure to hold the box so that its content was fully visible to the teller, savouring the look of disappointment on his face. Though priceless to her, she knew it contained nothing of value to the goblins - only Salazar's wand, and the key to the vault. But the goblins must've spent a millennium trying to break it open, guarding it jealously and passing the puzzle of the box onto their children like some mysterious treasure. Now _that_ was funny. Nearly as funny as the rate at which blood drained from Griphook's bony face when the significance of the action registered.

Yes, treasure-hoarding goblins certainly did make the best guards.

"You, you..." The goblin pointed a shaky finger at her and blurted. "You're... How...?"

Hermione smiled back, neither confirming nor disputing what must be going through the clever little goblin's head. She took the wand, one of her earliest and proudest creations, and let the warmth spread from her fingers to the rest of her body as it welcomed her magic back.

Griphook blinked, slowly got up and showed her to the cart that looked just as likely to collapse as it did before without another word.

Salazar had made sure to open a personal vault, separate from the family vault that any relatives or descendants of relatives could potentially enter should they somehow be made his heir. Hermione made a mental note to find out who that was, but it would be wisest not to touch that vault just yet. Besides, if cousin Marvolo's spending habits were anything to go on, she doubted there would be anything _left_ in the family vault after a millennium.

The goblins had been more than happy to open this vault, of course. Salazar's own additions to the vault's protection prevented them and just about anyone else from accessing its contents, but they seemed to be under the very logical impression that if they waited long enough and tried hard enough after his death, they could eventually claim its riches for themselves.

Inside, she found Salazar's favourite bottomless bag, into which she scooped a careless handful of gold. She also took with her a small library of various kinds of books, many of them nearly impossible to find elsewhere and a dozen authored by Salazar himself. Then there was the small silver and emerald ring that Salazar always wore, though she wouldn't put it on just yet.

She glanced down at the bag. It looked rather conspicuous, out of place. A flick of her wand transformed its exterior into a small beaded purse. This would suit her better now.

Griphook bowed her out of Gringotts. Hermione took the rest of the day to carefully comb through any bookstore she'd spotted, picking up a number of history books and making sure to get at least three accounts of each major event for at least some semblance of objectivity... Not that it was possible, as everything she'd read about Salazar so far had been terribly misguided. True, he despised muggles and wizards who wouldn't accept magic and he'd been very vocal and politically active about maintaining distance between magical and muggle populations, but he'd never had an issue with accepting muggleborn students. He'd left the school he'd helped built only because his research had grown too dangerous to be conducted near students, and the disagreement with Godric had been about letting muggle parents visit their children, should they choose to attend at Hogwarts. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out just how this happened. What exactly had she done to earn this hate?

But it had become quite clear by now that if she were to announce what had really happened to the _evil bigoted probably baby-eating_ Dark Lord Salazar Slytherin right here and now, the mob waiting to take her to that prison they call Azkaban would be sizable indeed. Not that she was planning to do so immediately anyways. They probably wouldn't believe her.

She'd taken care to alter her appearance so that she could wander through the shops freely. She'd also found an adjacent street, Knocturn Alley, which turned out to be quite interesting. It was dirty and dingy and filled with all sorts of unmannerly people, rather like a slum compared to the High Road that was Diagon Alley. The expression on some of the men's shabby faces, upon seeing a seemingly defenceless young girl, was revolting. A cross between a toad and a jackal, or something of the sort.

Being the patient teacher that she was, that Salazar had always been, she'd painstaking hexed every single one of them until they learned better (which was quickly enough).

And Hermione arrived home at 4, just before her parents returned from the clinic. Her day's work had given her plenty more to think about.

Well, then. A summary of her current situation? _'Salazar Slytherin is remembered as dangerous, conniving, despicable. As is everything connected to him... me. Hermione Granger is a completely unknown entity, so the first introduction will almost determine what people expect of her... me. __The magical society at large has just came out of a war, apparently, but looks to be in pretty good shape now.' _In addition, she had access to her wand, her books, and enough gold for now. She was suffering no memory loss as far as she could tell - this Salazar had somewhat expected. But her magic had definitely regressed a bit. Children just didn't have the same control as adults.

Her plans for the near future?

Godric, in her situation, would probably jump right into the thick of things. But she would rather play it safe. There would be time for action later.

_'Don't attract the attention of society's major players. Maneuver into position while keeping my head down.' _It was still far too risky to do much, so she would play along and observe. And stay out of trouble. Should be simple, right?

More or less set and ready, Hermione awaited her official first step into the modern magical society.


	3. Year 1: Chapter 2

Hermione found it funny that her official first trip (and unofficial second trip) to Diagon Alley was much slower, due to her parents' frequent bickering over the map. She had to keep reminding her mother that, no, they could not just ask the hotdog vendor where the Leaky Cauldron was.

Personally, Hermione thought they looked a little like a family of lunatics, and wondered briefly if there would be any patients for her parents to return to at the Clinic if they'd been grinning like this for all of yesterday.

Once there, they followed Professor McGonagall's instructions to a tee. First stop was Gringotts, where her mother and father exchanged some muggle money for Galleons. The goblins looked as if they'd swallowed lemons when they saw her, but they didn't say a word. Instead they averted eye contact and tried to pretend she was nonexistent.

"Aren't they such polite little people?" Father walked away with this impression, "A bit shy, though."

Hermione shrugged.

The next stop was Ollivander's, to purchase her official wand.

She'd known something of the Ollivander family. Like how the Slytherin family specialized in potions and the arts of the mind, the Ollivander family had been widely known as masters of wandlore since the sixth century. The current owner of the business fixed her with an intense stare as she entered his store.

"Good morning. I am Garrick Ollivander. Would this be your first wand, young miss?"

"Oh yes. You see we just found out our Hermione is a witch just yesterday – funny, isn't it? I mean we're all so excited and magic is so amazing and –"

"Calm down, mum. Breathe," Hermione interrupted gently.

Mr. Ollivander nodded. "Curious… But never mind. Which is your wand arm, miss?"

Hermione held out her right. To her surprise, the old wandmaker plucked a long box off the shelf behind him and put an admittedly handsomely carved wand in her palm without any preamble. Immediately, she felt the wood warm to her. Its reaction wasn't as strong as the wand she'd preserved with the goblins, most likely because it was not created by her own magic, but she knew that it was compatible. "Yes, I thought so," muttered Ollivander to no one in particular.

"It's done? That was... rather much faster than I expected," Hermione told him.

"This one has been asking for you the minute you walked through the door... You see, Miss Hermione, vine wands are generally the quickest to find their match," explained Ollivander without breaking his gaze from hers, "because they instantly detect personalities with hidden depth. They are attracted to witches and wizards who seek a greater purpose, who have visions beyond the ordinary and who will astound those who think they know them best. And here it is paired with dragon heartstring, for power… I hope you will find it adequate."

Hermione was a little unnerved by the degree of detail in that assessment. It seemed that the Ollivanders had honed their craft very well through the centuries... She opted to extract herself from Ollivander's shop after that, leaving plenty of time for the odd family of three to slowly make their way to the rest of their destinations. Shopping with her parents turned out to be quite a challenge. She had to drag them past the crowd of children gaping at the new Nimbus 2000, and it took just about all the cunning she possessed to keep them from getting lost in the bookshop. And it had been so difficult to convince them that it was a bad idea to buy a moving portrait for their living room wall, especially as they went as far as attempting to bribe her with a pet snake.

They left without the portrait. And little Sylvia would be better off living with another happy family anyways.

"Wand, check. Books, check. Cauldron, check... That just leaves your uniform at Madame Malkins, Hermione dear."

The kindly lady, Madame Malkins, was busy with a boy her age when she stepped into the shop. Hermione politely stood on the stool beside him and waited.

"Hullo," the boy seemed friendly enough, "I'm Neville Longbottom."

"Hermione Granger," she replied, "it's very nice to meet you."

"Good to meet you too, Hermi...er, sorry, could you repeat that?"

"Hermione."

"Harminini?"

_'Why does it always have to be this difficult?'_ "Hermione, as in The Winter's Tale?"

Blank stares.

"Shakespeare?" She tried again.

More blank stares.

"He's a famous muggle playwright. You must be pureblood, then, if you've never heard of Shakespeare... Look, if my name is too hard for you, then call me Sally. Or Sal. My old friends called my that." '_Specifically, when Godric decided that something as simple as Salazar was too much for his poor brain to handle. Oh, how Godric would laugh if he heard this...'_

"Are you a muggleborn, Sally?" Neville asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Some wizards don't like muggleborns, but my Gran says it's nonsense."

So blood status was still as touchy an issue as ever, she gathered. Oh, and that Neville Longbottom was a _very_ tactful diplomat.

"Are you going to Hogwarts too, Neville?"

The boy's eyes practically sparkled at that. "Oh yes! I can't wait till the sorting!"

"Any idea which house you want to be in? Not Slytherin, surely?" She had a feeling that Neville's tongue would cause him quite a bit of grief there.

"Of course not! Gran says it's for evil wizards! I... I want to go to Gryffindor. I hope I'm brave enough..."

Neville looked so nervous that Hermione completely ignored the unintentional personal insult, though it once again reminded her that something must be done about House Slytherin's reputation. "I'm sure you can go to any house you want, Neville. They really care about your opinion, or at least, they should. Besides, the other houses are just as good. You'll do very well in Hufflepuff, for example. And really, Slytherin's not that bad. Or at least, it's not supposed to be..."

Neville nodded, brightening again. "Thanks, Sally... Wait! You're a muggleborn, right? How come you know more about Hogwarts than I do?"

"I did just spend a whole day in the bookstore," Hermione pointed out. "Flourish and Blotts, I think it's called. They have an interesting book called Hogwarts: a History."

"Oh."

She suddenly remembered. "I've been meaning to ask someone about this - I'm a muggleborn, so I really don't know... Have you heard anything about a boy named Harry Potter? They say he killed a certain evil wizard as a baby? A certain Lord Voldemort-"

"We don't say that name!" Neville whispered, suddenly fearful.

"I'm sorry, I won't do it again," Hermione promised.

"On October 31, ten years ago, He-who-must-not-be-named attacked the Potters' family. He'd killed Harry's mum and dad, but he couldn't kill the baby."

"So what happened to You-know-who?" Hermione prompted.

"Gone," Neville swallowed, "vanished."

'Vanished' didn't have the same finality as 'dead', Hermione noted grimly, though it was good that this Voldemort hadn't been making trouble for the past ten years. Although, the idea of a feared dark wizard vanishing upon attempting to kill an infant sounded rather fantastical. She would read more about it later. "And Harry would be around our age, right? This means there's a good chance we'll get to meet him at Hogwarts."

"You're right!" Neville realized, "Merlin, I haven't thought of that!"

"You're done, dear," Madame Malkins called, and Neville hopped off the stool clumsily with his new robes.

"I can't believe I made a friend already!" he beamed, "I was afraid for a while that no one would talk to me because I'm almost a squib...See you on the train, Sally!"

Hermione smiled back warmly. "See you on the train, Neville." The boy's "Gran" was putting him under too much pressure, she swear. _'Almost a squib my foot.' _Hogwarts wouldn't take squibs or anyone who didn't have enough magic to benefit from the education. They'd made sure of that.

As it was, she could only wish Neville the best of luck.

After enjoying ice cream at the cozy little ice cream parlour next door and disguising her new cauldron as well as she could without using magic, Hermione and parents went home without much fanfare. The rest of the summer passed relatively normally, and she took this as a sign that her parents were adjusting to the existence of magic reasonably well. Soon enough, it was time to board the steam-and-magic-powered locomotive, the Hogwarts Express. The space between platform 9 and 10 appeared to be a solid wall, but clearly it was just an illusion. Turning back, she hugged her parents goodbye.

Her father signed fondly. "All those boarding schools that offered you scholarships must be so disappointed... Remember to write to us, Hermione dearest."

"Of course," she smiled. The calm, sure way she'd passed through the barrier betrayed none of her excitement. She looked around her. The younger children on the platform were bouncing with anticipation of adventure, of going somewhere new. The older children were grinning at the thought of returning to the place where they lived and grew for so many years. For her, it was both.

Hermione slid into an empty compartment and felt its aged leather seats. '_Well, then. Let the journey begin.'_

* * *

**AN: Description of Hermione's wand was taken from the wiki page. I think it suits Salazar!Hermione rather well :)**


	4. Year 1: Chapter 3

About five minutes into the trip, the compartment door slid open again to reveal a snobby looking blond boy, flanked by two large boys who she secretly thought looked like they'd walked straight out of the gorilla house at the zoo.

Hermione put down Hogwarts: a History, the book she was reading (and editing), and gave them a friendly smile. "Hello, I'm Hermione Granger."

The blond boy had been considering whether to come in, but upon hearing her last name he gave a disdainful sniff and walked on. The two gorillas trailed after him obediently.

Hermione could understand his reaction. Clearly "Granger" was not a pureblood name, and the boy had been taught not to associate with anyone outside his family circle. Salazar had always found this kind of attitude slightly worrying, though he never gave the subject much thought. Wouldn't they end up with a dangerously inbred bloodline if everyone only talked to their cousins? And how would they know where a cousin's allegiance lies, should a conflict break out between two "purebloods"?

Or perhaps Salazar was alone in his concerns. Marvolo and his sisters hadn't been the most pleasant company.

Hermione returned her attention to her book, but was interrupted when her compartment door opened again. This time, she was joined by two friendly, though excessively giggly, girls her year. They introduced themselves as Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown. They were exploring the train, they said, because Parvati's sister Padma had became engaged in a very long discussion about - yawn - textbooks, leaving them rather bored.

"Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you," she told them, before noticing the small frown on their foreheads. "Er, call me Sally. I find it far more preferable to 'her-my-knee' or 'her-mi-own', or some other variations thereupon."

The girls nodded, relieved.

"Did you know each other from before?" Hermione asked, curious.

"Nope," Lavender giggled, "we met on the platform."

"And speaking of meeting people," Parvati leaned in as if to share some great secret, "Do you know who's on this train with us?"

"Surely, not Harry Potter?" Hermione deliberately made her eyes go wide, knowing exactly what they were going to say. "I heard rumours, but..."

"But YES!" Lavender and Parvati squealed, "We saw him several compartments left of yours. He has messy black curls, green eyes -"

"Stunning green eyes," Lavender added.

"Oh yes," Parvati agreed, "He's much cuter than the redhead sitting beside him -"

"Hey! The redhead's not _that _bad..."

_'Ah. So they're that kind of girls..._'"Did you go and say hello?" Hermione asked, amused, while mentally marking these two down as guaranteed gossip hubs.

"Of course not!" Lavender blushed, "We're too shy..."

_'Ha! As if!'_ "Aww, that's a pity!"

The girls sulked, nodding melodramatically.

"Are you excited to go to Hogwarts? I've read," Hermione patted her book, "so much about it!"

"Oh of course! I can't wait to do magic!" Lavender took out her wand and twirled it proudly, inadvertently causing sparks to fly out and scorch the upholstery. "Oops,"

"But aren't you nervous?" Parvati demanded, "They say we're going to be _sorted! _How do you reckon they're going to do that?"

"You put on an ugly old hat that looks into your head and asks you what you want," Hermione decided to take pity on her, "What? Did you think we'd need to wrestle a troll or something?" Funny enough, Godric had actually proposed the exact task as his house's "entrance exam". The other founders had firmly put their foot down, citing various reasons such as noise, smell, damage to the local ecology, and general damage to the school's reputation.

"Oh good, because a third year five compartments down is telling these horrible stories -"

"Sally!" Neville burst through the door, looking very much relieved to see her. There were tears in his eyes, Hermione noticed. "Have you seen my toad? I can't find him anywhere!"

Lavender, on the other hand, looked very much annoyed to be interrupted. "No," she answered shortly.

"I'll help you look, Neville. See you at the sorting, Lavender, Parvati," Hermione stood and slipped out of the compartment. "What's the toad's name? And what does he look like?"

"Trevor."

Hermione discreetly turned her back to him. A simple summoning spell should do it. Though on second thought, this would be a good opportunity to meet everyone on the train. "C'mon, let's go. Has anyone seen a toad around here? Neville's lost one..."

Hermione noticed that apart from the first years, students tend to sit with their housemates. Two compartments, both unfortunately were distinctively Slytherin, shut the door in their faces. Everyone else, Slytherins included, politely said that they hadn't seen anything. Eventually, they arrived at the compartment containing a black haired boy and a taller redhead boy, as well as the blond and the gorillas from before. They seemed to be in some sort of argument that escalated and ultimately resulted in the blond angrily stalking away, nursing his fingers.

"Have you been fighting?" Hermione asked.

"Scabber's been fighting, not me," the redhead pointed out defensively. There was a smudge of dirt on his nose.

Hermione eyed his balled fists dubiously. '_I think what you meant is that Scabber bit him before you could take a whack at him,' _She shook her head with disapproval. _"_Have you seen a toad anywhere? Neville's lost one."

"No, sorry," the boy replied, though his look suggested that if he had a toad, he wouldn't hesitate to lose it at first chance.

"Perhaps he'll turn up," his black- haired friend said comfortingly.

"Thanks anyways. I'm Hermione Granger by the way. But I also go by Sally. It's easier."

"Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter."

The- boy-who-lived. He acted quite modestly for a celebrity, Hermione thought. "I've read about you, Harry. You're in the Book of Modern Magical History and the Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts."

"Oh."

"You should look yourself up. I know I would." _'And I did. To find out just what kind of bullcrap the world's been saying about me.'_

She glanced out the window. Already, she could see the familiar rolling hills, the edge of the black lake. They were almost there.

Leaving the boys' compartment to let them change into their uniforms (she had already put on her own before the train had left the station), she idly wondered what house the boys would be sorted into. Ron looked like someone who might go to Gryffindor. Harry, she wasn't sure. But since he'd had an unpleasant experience with the blond, who unfortunately would most likely end up in Slytherin, Harry would most likely go to Gryffindor as well.

They'd never asked her which house she thought she belonged in. Had they asked, her answer would've been "I'm not sure." On the one hand, House Slytherin really needed to shape up. It was disappointing to see Salazar's legacy crumble into a house of crooks and villains. The best way to reform it was from within the house itself.

On the other hand, was that really the best choice? Given what she knew of the current political climate, it would close off so many opportunities, so many chances.

But then again, was she truly resurrected if her name and what she stood for had rotted away?

"First years o'er here!" A booming voice shouted. Hermione followed Harry, Neville and the other first years off the train, where they eventually boarded a fleet of little boats. Someone finally saw Neville's toad, and before long they were all happily sailing toward the majestic castle that was Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall greeted them outside the great hall.

"The sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will become something like family to you."

Hermione felt the magic of the castle, the layers of wards protecting those within. Most of the spells had been invented by Rowena, arranged by Salazar, checked by Helga and constructed by all four friends together. _'Oh how I've missed you...'_

"The four houses are called Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards."

Any moment now. Like the other first years, Hermione's breath caught in her throat as four ghosts floated into the hall. A fat friar, a clownish knight, one of Salazar's former students who she remembered well, and... Rowena's daughter?

_'Godric, Helga, Rowena...They're all gone now,' _For one, brief second, she wondered whether Salazar should've given the reincarnation potion to his friends as well. But she quickly realized that it was a ridiculous idea. They had all been living long fruitful lives, with their families and friends. They were content. Why take them away from all that they'd worked hard to earn, and drop them into the unknown again? It would be a curse, not a blessing for them. Only Salazar would call it an opportunity.

"Abbot, Hannah!"

She watched with pride as her fellow students gaped at the high ceiling. To see it as it always had been, after a thousand years... "It's enchanted to look like the night sky," she told them, barely able to keep the smugness out of her voice. "I read it in Hogwarts: a History, of course."

"Granger, Hermione!"

Step forward with composure. Put on the hat. Hide what must be hidden, and prepare to think.

_'What have we here? A smart young lady. I see your thirst for knowledge. Definite Ravenclaw material, then?'_

_'Very diligent too. You'll find others like you in Hufflepuff, of course.'_

_'Yes, highly intelligent. But I wonder if you're more than that? What are you willing to do to achieve your goals, hmm?'_

The hat sounded exactly like Salazar when it said that last bit.

She made up her mind. _'Place me in Gryffindor.'_

_'Gryffindor? What a very Slytherin thing to do, from your perspective. Pity. I thought Slytherin would finally get someone worthy.'_

_'Perhaps it might help if you explain what being Slytherin really means at next year's sorting.'_ Hermione suggested, 'I_ know you know, and I know you can. Think about it for a while.'_

_'I've tried before, and I will try again, though it will not be enough. Much needs to be changed outside the castle walls as well. This time it'll count for something, you say? You're an interesting one, Hermione - or do you prefer Sally? Promise you won't let them burn me for blasphemy? _

_'Very well. I wish you all the luck. Welcome to GRYFFINDOR!'_


	5. Year 1: Chapter 4

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione placed the Sorting Hat on the stool and strolled toward the red and gold table, smiling gratefully for her new housemate's applause. She took a seat beside a older, officious-looking boy who bore some resemblance to Ron from the train. He wore a very well-polished silver prefect badge.

"Hermione Granger," she offered him her hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The boy shook it, pleased by the respectful tone of her greeting. "It's very good to meet you too, Hermione. My name is Percy Weasley. You're welcome to come to me if you ever need help here at Hogwarts."

"Thank you for the offer, Percy. Being prefect must be tiring, with all that responsibility."

This got Percy talking. "It certainly is," he puffed out his chest and straightened his prefect badge, causing two redhead twins further down the table to snigger. "Already I've had to deal with three cases of trouble-making. It's a big job, but someone has to do it. This year, I intend to put a stop to all pranks, bullying and breaking of school rules."

"That's a very ambitious goal," Hermione complimented, noticing how the twins and their friend looked as if Percy had announced that he would like to repeal the laws of magic. "Are there one or two primary perpetrators, or is it more of a general problem?"

"There are," Percy glared down the table, "one or two," The redhead twins, who she could now safely assume to be Weasleys as well, only laughed harder. Percy huffed, but encouraged by the way Hermione seemed to be drinking in his every word, continued on. "Much of the trouble result from the animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin, however. Many of us feel strongly about dark wizards, and House Slytherin has produced more dark wizards than any others."

Hermione repressed a frown. Dark magic wasn't necessarily evil. It was simply more dangerous than others, and should therefore be used and taught with caution. "Have you found the Slytherin students to be especially violent?"

Percy considered this. "Not exactly. I'm afraid the majority of serious confrontations have been initiated by our own house. But my point is, it's the general attitude that's the problem. And some of the prominent Slytherin families have taken to taunting muggleborn students."

"I understand. I'm muggleborn myself."

Percy nodded toward the other side of the Great Hall, at the Slytherin table, to where the blond boy she'd met on the train was sitting. "You'll want to watch out for that boy, then, sitting beside the Bloody Baron. His name is Draco Malfoy, and his family is well-known for blood purism. His father's been a known Death Eater - er, supporter of You-know-who, but somehow he still managed to maintain powerful political connections. He claimed to be under the imperious curse, the spell that controls minds, after You-know-who's fall."

"What does he do now?" Hermione asked.

"He's a senator, as well as a member of Hogwarts' governing council."

Neville Longbottom was sorted into Gryffindor, as he had wanted. He'd been so proud and excited that he'd ran off with the hat still on his head, before doubling back amid bursts of applause and laughter. Hermoine flashed him a warm smile when he joined their table.

"Sally! We're in the same house!" He grinned from ear to ear, "I'm so glad I made it!"

Percy was confused. "Sally?"

"You're the first person to pronounce my name, beside my parents and some of the teachers. Everyone else call me Sally instead, ever since preschool."

Percy looked sympathetic. "Though I must admit, your name is rather unusual. Shakespeare, right?"

"The Winter's Tale. Do you enjoy reading, Percy?"

"Certainly," Percy smiled proudly, "though I'm afraid I don't know too many of Shakespeare's stories."

"Ah, but I'm surprised you know of him at all! Your brother Ron said your family is purely magical."

Percy laughed. "True, but my father is fascinated by muggles. He's the head of the Department of Muggle Artifacts."

"A ministry official!" Hermione gasped admiringly, egging him on. She wondered what the magical government was like. They didn't have one in Salazar's days. "You must be really familiar with the Ministry of Magic, then. What's it like?"

"Well, there's the Minister, Cornelius Fudge. We've had him over for dinner once or twice. And then there are the department heads..." Hermione made her interest known as Percy gave a very nice overview of the power structure of the Ministry. She could tell that Percy was dying to work there, and likely even fantasized about becoming minister himself.

Had it not been the unfavourable perception of House Slytherin, Hermione thought, Percy would've very likely gone there. But then again, Salazar's house had been intended to provide resources for people who could and wanted to get things done, not necessarily for those who desired power. _'Perhaps that's where the meaning of ambition got lost?'_

They stopped their conversation to watch the sorting of Harry Potter, who joined Gryffindor as she expected. He sat down beside a sandy-haired boy named Dean Thomas, and was soon joined by Ron Weasley. Percy cheered for his younger brother with pride.

Over the cheers and applause, Hermione could hear Lavender Brown shouting across the table at a recently sorted Parvati Patil in an animated discussion on why they were sorted into Gryffindor. Lavender proudly announced that the Sorting Hat thought she had courage, while Parvati apparently "found joy in adventures". Both girls were apparently also very glad to be in the same house as Harry Potter. Fortunately, the topic of their discussion also happened to be deep in conversation and did not hear them.

"What about you, Sally? What did the Sorting Hat say for you?" Asked Lavender with a giggle.

"Why Gryffindor?" Hermione smiled, giggling back.

Because she'd rather not cut off opportunities, and as much as she hated to say it, it was obvious that simply being associated with Slytherin House - as it is - would close many doors. True, some of its alumni such as Lucius Malfoy still held influential positions, but they were only able to manage it through subterfuge and sheer financial power rather than respect. And even if she were to turn Salazar's house back into what it was, it would not automatically change the opinions of people like Neville Longbottom, or Percy Weasley, or the larger part of society.

"The hat thought about many things, but I thought Gryffindor would help me most and it agreed." Of the other three Houses, Gryffindor seemed to have grown to become the most vocal of House Slytherin's enemies. They would also be the ones who'd need the most convincing. Suppose there was any value left in the house she'd founded, she'd still be able to help the students this way.

Of course, the setback for not joining Slytherin once more was that she'd now have to find much more complicated ways to influence her old house. She would get started on that soon.

Hermione turned her attention to the rest of her house. Neville was telling the boy beside him how he'd been dropped out of a window and performed his first accidental magic at the age of six. Ron and Harry were talking animatedly with one of the Weasley twins - Fred? Or George? Beside her, the comical ghost was trying to introduce himself as the noble Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Propington -

"My brother told me! You're Nearly Headless Nick!" A first year shouted.

Sir Nick looked affronted. "I would prefer to be known as Sir Nicholas -"

"Nearly headless?" Hermione joined in. The knight looked too funny when he got annoyed. "How can you be nearly headless?"

"Like this," Nick sighed, and tugged his partially severed head off his neck by a ear. After a few seconds, he straightened up and coughed. "Now, any other _questions_?"

As customary, the professors were seated at the head table, which had been expanded over time to seat ten instead of four. Professor McGonagall sat near the middle beside a man with a long silver beard, who Hermoine assumed was the headmaster. His eyes had an intriguing, knowing sort of twinkle. The loafing giant who'd guided them off the train - correction: half giant - sat at the end of the table. On the other side of the headmaster, there was a black-haired professor with a very sour expression, as if he was chronically displeased. Beside him, there was a jittery-looking professor who was always adjusting his purple turban. An interesting bunch, they were.

Finally, the last of the first years had been sorted. After the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, stood and said a few words ("Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"), the tables were covered with plates of food. Hermione reached happily for the familiar steak-and-kidney pie, a longtime favourite, while trying to ignore the snorting sound emitted by a certain redhead during his attempt to shovel as much food into his mouth as possible. She noticed Sir Nick looking on enviously, so she deliberately savoured every single bite to his chagrin.

Dinner was followed by the singing of the school song (written by Godric in a fit of firewhiskey-induced inspiration) and Professor Dumbledore's actual welcome speech. This consisted mainly of a list of school rules and the announcement that a certain third floor hallway was now off-limits. There was also the curfew, which had really been designed to be broken. It practically ensured students time and privacy to work on side projects, should they be determined to do so.

Percy, as prefect, led the first years to their dormitories. Hermione took a bed near Lavender and Parvati, drew her curtains and waited. After some time, the hand of her watch struck 12. Hermione opened her curtains slightly. Coast clear.

Picking up her bottomless bag, she cast a disillusionment spell over herself and spelt her curtains shut. She then proceeded to stroll silently out of the Gryffindor portrait hole, and made for the second floor.

There was someone she had to see.

She was more than a bit annoyed when she realized that Salazar's favourite laboratory had been converted into a freaking bathroom. _'Just because I'd built a plumbing system here doesn't mean they should be lazy and reappropriate it...'_ But she thanked her fortune when it turned out to be a girl's bathroom. This would half the likelihood of her getting caught.

"_Open_," she hissed softly, and the petal-like array of washbasins shuffled apart to reveal the hidden tunnel. She floated down it with easy grace, landing near a large pile of shed snakeskin. '_Esmeralda must've grown really big by now_,' She thought, walking on.

At last she reached the foyer, where the imposing stony figure of Uncle Malory glared down with a stern expression. Salazar had put him there so that a particular childhood memory, the one that inspired the passcode, would be forever immortalized.

'_Marvolo is a strumpet,' _she told the tall stone face in all seriousness.

The statue seethed angrily and stomped, revealing a narrow door. Hermione smirked. That one never got old. "Thank you, uncle dear!"

"_Salazar? Is that you?_"

"_Yes, Esmeralda. I'm back."_

Her old friend nodded with some melancholy. "_You smell a bit different, but you feel the same."_

"_True_," Hermione agreed, "_that tends to happen to you when you're reborn. How have the last millennium been for you, Esmeralda?"_

"_One thousand years... No wonder it felt so long. The smaller snakes come, but they are afraid of me."_

Hermione felt a twang of pity for her friend. She must've been lonely.

"_Then one day I heard someone speak outside. 'Talk to me, greatest of the Hogwarts four', he said. I knew it wasn't you, but it's been so long since I heard someone speak in our tongue that I had to go out and see him."_

'_My supposed heir?' "Did he give the passcode?"_

"_No_," Esmeralda was amused, "_he seemed to think that statue outside is you, actually."_

Hermione facepalmed. "_To be mistaken for that old monkey... But why would I make a door out of my own mouth? Did he think I have no self respect?"_

Esmeralda flicked her tail noncommittally, then grew sad. "_He tricked me, Sal. He told me the castle has been infiltrated, and no one was doing anything about it."_

"_Infiltrated by whom?"_

_"I didn't think to ask. I had been too angry... I followed him to the surface at once, my eyes wide open, and then..."_

"_And then?"_ Hermione asked gently, despite the sinking feeling in her stomach.

"_A student saw me, Sal. And she died. There were no infiltrators, I later realized."_

'_Stay calm. Take three breaths. Don't blow anything up. Don't blow anything up...' "The boy... Did he give you his name?"_

Esmeralda shook her head. "_No, and I never saw him again after that."_

_'Deep breaths. Deeeep breaths...' "And how long ago was this?"_

_"Not too long."_

Not too long for Esmeralda would be around fifty years, then. Hermione would look for him in the school's records. _"He can look forward to hell." 'No one gets away with turning the school's sentinel, MY friend, against the students. And no one's allowed to murder under my name. Only I get to do that.' "What's done is done, Esmeralda. You've blamed yourself enough."_

She nodded.

"_But in the future, let's stay calm, and let's not trust anyone until they've insulted Marv some way or another."_

Esmeralda opened her jaws in something akin to a laugh._ "Of course. And welcome back to Hogwarts, Sal."_


	6. Year 1: Chapter 5

_"Good morrow, Salazar!" The group of muggle boys called. They were Salazar's age, more or less. Because of this, they seemed to think they were his friends._

_"Good morning, Nathan, Michael, Samuel," Salazar replied, book in hand. He didn't like them one bit, with their crudeness and uncivil behaviour. Still, as they were his family's tenants, he forced himself to be welcoming and gracious and agreeable. He listened with feigned interest as they described how they'd successfully evaded punishment when they were caught urinating at a farmer's dog. _

_"Wasn't that some adventure we had!" Samuel, the largest of the boys, finished gleefully._

_"Congratulation on your escape," Salazar said, eyebrow raised with an otherwise blank expression, "but I trust you do not need me to tell you that such a habit would be unhealthy. If you value your manhood at all, that is."_

_"Pish posh!" Nathan waved, "we're much too fast for that stupid dog."_

_Salazar saw no reason why Nathan should call a dog stupid. After all, the boy himself was not much better. _

_"Did you know?" Michael leaned in conspiracally, "They're raising the stake down at the village again!"_

_"Oh? Who are they burning this time?"_

_"Some woman," Michael shrugged, "I saw her locked in a cage when I was down there. She didn't look scared, though. Witches are strange."_

_Salazar nodded. It sounded like the woman could take care of herself, then. _

_"Oh her!" Nathan joined in, "They caught her last night. My brother's friend went to help."_

_Salazar hid his disgust at the pride in Nathan's voice. He reminded himself that they were only muggles, that they didn't and couldn't know better. "Did he now?"_

_"Oh yes! He said he helped them pin her arms down while they were pushing her into the cage!"_

_"That sounds so exciting!" Samuel said enviously, "I'm so gonna join a witch hunt, one day. And believe me, I've tried, but they won't let me. They say I'm not old enough." _

_"They speak sense," Salazar pointed out reasonably, "You are only eleven. You would be no match." Too true. Salazar could kill him with a wave of his wand if he wanted to, and Samuel wouldn't even know what hit him. And Salazar was only ten._

_Samuel spat. "As if! They just want to have all the fun themselves... Say, if they don't let us join them, why don't we start our own?"_

_"How did I not think of that?" Nathan grinned excitedly, rubbing his palms, "So, where do we start? Who looks like they might be a witch?"_

_"Not anyone that I know of," Salazar lied in the same perfectly unconcerned voice as before. _

_"We'll start down at the village, then. We'll march around the village, in the name of Lord Salazar -"_

_"Don't kill people in my name, Samuel," Salazar cut him off, for the first time serious, "Only I get to do that."_

_"Er...As you wish, your eminence."_

_..._

_"Ah, Salazar! How good it is to see you!" Marvolo spread his arms wide, rattling the cumbersome gold chains that he saw fit to wrap around his person. Beside him, Merope and Melinda gave a high-pitched giggle. They were covering their mouths with silk fans in a horrible attempt to appear feminine. _

_"I am delighted to see you too, dear cousins," Salazar smiled politely, book in hand. He offered his other arm to Merope, as per customs, which she accepted gladly. Marvolo followed with Melinda. "You look dazzling today, my lady. Your dress - it must've cost..."_

_"Fifty Galleons," she told him proudly, "I'm glad you like it, Sal. Isn't the gold lace simply gorgeous?"_

_"Of course, such richness is only befitting of a lady of your status, and your-" Salazar coughed discreetly into his other hand. In fanning herself, Merope was causing her heavy perfume and powder to waft toward him in the most unpleasant way. "- beauty. Excuse me, my lady."_

_"You're forgiven, Sal," Merope fawned, "Now show us around your father's beautiful rose garden like you promised!"_

_"Of course, dear cousins." Salazar replied smoothly, setting his book down on a table. It looked like there was no getting away from these idiots today._

_..._

_"Sal! Have you got your nose stuck in a book again?" Godric waved, coaxing his spirited horse into the stable with his other hand. His boots were dripping with mud from the fields. Salazar had met him by chance while riding out to inspect the family estate some time ago. Godric had been travelling through and, upon realizing each other's magic, they'd quickly became friends and exchanged promises of future visits._

_"For a knight, Sir Godric," Salazar sighed, "you should really have more respect for literature. This book contains the work of -"_

_"Bor-ing!" Godric yawned dramatically, "I read, but there's a distinction between reading for necessity and reading for enjoyment. I don't know how you do it."_

_"Books are useful. If I hadn't learned about the possibility of an obliviation charm and taught it to my village - in disguise of course - the muggles would still be marching around on witchhunts every month."_

_"I still say exercise and training is more useful, though," said Godric._

_"I agree, and I do exercise my magic very frequently I'll have you know. I merely don't throw myself into fights as eagerly as you do - although they occasionally find me on their own."_

_"I challenge you. My combat experience against your books."_

_Salazar's eyes lit up at the prospect of a non-lethal duel. "You're on, Godric! But if you lose, I'm calling you a muggle for a week!"_

_"And if you lose," Godric smirked wickedly, "I'm calling you Sally for a week!"_

_They bowed. At age sixteen and seventeen, both boys were quite advanced in their spellwork. Multicoloured light flashed around them as they skillfully dodged each other's attacks while sending back a continuous stream of hexes in return. "Expelliamus!" Salazar smirked victoriously as Godric's wand flew off to the side. However, he'd forgotten about an invisible tripping charm Godric had cast earlier. His own wand rolled away from him as he tried to keep his face out of the mud. He quickly cast a wandless summoning spell, but Godric was already advancing on him with his sword._

_"I win - " Godric grinned, but dropped the sword before he could point it at Salazar's neck. "- OUCH!" A small snake had sunk its teeth into his calf, and was now slithering away into the grass. _

_"Thank you friend!" Salazar called in parseltongue. "Relax, Godric, he's not poisonous." _

_"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, Sally!" Godric complained, hopping on one leg while clutching the other._

_"You didn't win," Salazar pointed out, "you dropped the sword, remember?"_

_"But you cheated! The snake disarmed me, not you!"_

_"Ah! Ah! But I didn't lose either," Salazar wagged a finger, "so our agreement is null. Therefore you will still address me as Salazar."_

_"Why you tricky little -" Godric searched for the best word._

_"Slytherin?" Salazar supplied helpfully._

_"Yes!"_

_"Why thank you for the compliment!" Salazar grinned, handing Godric back his wand. "We'd better clean up before we go inside. My mother would be horrified..."_

_..._

_"I'm leaving, Godric, Rowena, Helga," Salazar told his only true friends, "I've already organized all the course notes for Potions, as well as Understanding the Dark Arts. You'll have no trouble at all next year."_

_"But Sal!" Helga cried, "Whatever for?"_

_"Is it about the muggleborn policy?" Godric asked, "Because you know that's still negotiable -"_

_"Godric I'm insulted! Do you really think I would abandon the school over a detail like that? We've all made good points, and everything's adequate as it is. The students live yearlong at the castle, and go home during the summer so that they can still bond with their parents. As long as we're encouraging them to immerse themselves in our society, everything will be fine... But that's beside the point."_

_"Then why, Sal?" _

_"Look, I'm not upset or anything. I'm really not," Salazar sighed, "It's where my research is taking me. Did you know my laboratory nearly exploded the other day?"_

_"I thought it was an earthquake..." Rowena muttered. _

_"Exactly! This can't keep happening, or soon the integrity of the castle will be at risk! And the spells I'm working on are getting more dangerous by the day. It's not good for the wards."_

_"Oh dear!" Helga looked at him with worry, "I hope you didn't get hurt!"_

_"No, I could protect myself... But my point is, I've got to move out. I can't risk an accident around the students."_

_"But why insist on studying the dark arts?" Rowena asked, "Honestly, you're more stubborn than Godric sometimes."_

_Salazar shrugged. "Uncharted territories, Rowena. I think you can understand that better than anyone. We've got to keep learning, or society stales."_

_"And you, who has made your name perhaps more synonymous with the Dark Arts than even Morgana, must continue to lead the way..." Rowena realized._

_"When we founded this school," Salazar continued, "My goal has been to fill a need, to fix something that needed to be changed the world. We've achieved that goal. The most difficult stages have passed, and Hogwarts has been running smoothly for twenty years. Not much can go wrong anymore, not with the three of you here. I ought to spend my time on other things that need attending to__."_

_No one spoke for a moment._

_"Have you told the students yet?" Rowena asked._

_"Not yet. I'll inform them tomorrow. As my friends, you ought to know first."_

_They nodded solemnly. _

_"We'll miss you, Sal," Godric said._

_"I'll miss you too," Salazar smiled, sincerely. But he had grown up alone. He could stand to be alone for a little longer, right?_

_..._

Hermione woke to the sound of her housemates bustling about their morning routines. Blinking away the last of her long dream, she quickly got dressed and joined them on their walk to the Great Hall for breakfast, book in hand.

* * *

**A.N. Lol due to numerous comments requesting historical accuracy, I've changed Salazar's reading material**


	7. Year 1: Chapter 6

"Already studying, Sally?" Lavender leaned over to peek, "If you're so hardworking, you should be in Hufflepuff."

"The hat did consider that," Hermione told her, before rising to make for her next class, Transfiguration. She was familiar with all the trick steps and moving staircases, so she could afford to walk at a relatively leisurely pace unlike her fellow first years. In an empty second floor corridor, though -

"Ohh, a ickle firstie! What fun!"

_'Peeves. __Still alive and kicking, I see.'_

Hogwarts's resident poltergeist had been busy levitating a suit of armour. Upon seeing her, he'd pulled off the helmet in preparation to chuck it at her, cackling madly. His laughter turned to muffled screams, however, when the armour and helmet locked around him, trapping the ghost inside. It fell back into place, immobilized.

"Can't resist!" Hermione called over her shoulder, smirking, "The _irony's_ too great." The spell wouldn't bind Peeves forever, she knew, but she suspected it would take him at least two weeks to free himself.

The arrival of the poltergeist was rather funny, actually. When Peeves first turned up in the Great Hall, Godric had invited him to stay despite his more sensible friends' protests, saying, "The students need some excitement in their lives, Sally!" He'd quickly realized his mistake when Peeves proceeded to empty a jug of pumpkin juice over his head and shoved him face-first into the pudding.

"I told you so," Salazar had hissed through gritted teeth over Peeves' maniacal screeching, "and for the last time, my name is Salazar!"

But of course, once a poltergeist had been invited into an establishment, it would not leave. Only Salazar could do anything to him by virtue of his fairly extensive study in soulcraft. This, unfortunately, turned out to be quite annoying as well. Everyday, it was, "Sal! Peeves is destroying the charms classroom!" "Sal, could you get Peeves to stop banging on the armours?" "Sally! Help! Peeves is butchering my brooms!" Peeves had learned to fear Salazar, who had a large selection of painful curses ready for him whenever he'd fled a little too slowly. But days later, Peeves would be wrecking havoc again, and Salazar would be bombarded with a slew of Peeves-related complaints.

Eventually, Salazar and Peeves had reached an unofficial agreement. Salazar would tolerate the name calling, the taunts, the disruption of classes, the defacing of property... As long as Peeves steered clear of Salazar's personal quarters and laboratories and observed certain boundaries, Peeves was safe.

"Transfiguration is one of the most complex and dangerous magic you'll learn at Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall warned. She had them start off small, by practicing turning a match into a needle. This was quite literally child play for Hermione, but having watched first year students struggle with the task for many years, she gauged her performance so that it just exceeded the expectation.

Understanding the Dark Arts, now called Defence against the Dark Arts, was disappointing. Professor Quirrell's class consisted entirely of reading from the textbook and listening to numerous personal anecdotes that no one believed. She supposed there would still be time to learn spells and counterhexes starting second year, but she was still tempted to shove Salazar's course notes under Quirrell's nose and order him to teach from that instead.

"T...this turban was g...given to me by an African p...prince for warding off a troublesome Z-zombie..."

_'Honestly, he's not even trying,' _Hermione thought, suppressing a frown. Something wasn't right here. From what Quirrell's told them about himself, he should've been a reasonably bright pupil. If not, he would've made an effort to at least appear less incompetent. Instead, he unabashedly displayed horror at his own adventures and made mistakes when reading from the textbook.

It seemed to Hermione as if he was trying to build a false image, but over exaggerated his acting.

Hermione knew herself to suspect people too easily. There could be a number of other explanations for Quirrell's behaviour, after all. However, if her guess was correct, then her defence professor would be a relatively experienced practitioner of the dark arts, and would also possibly have some ulterior motives in mind...

She'd decided to stay out of trouble, but she _may_ need to keep an eye on him.

The history professor was a ghost. Hermione watched the class slowly drift off to sleep as Professor Binn droned on about a wizard named Ulric the Oddball. Hermione wasn't particularly interested in Ulric's various habits and choice of attire, and would've fallen asleep as well had she any less self-discipline.

After History, Hermione took a short detour to the dungeon antechamber.

There on the stone wall, the portrait of a certain former potion master was holding a book with one hand and rearranging various vials and flasks on the bench in front of him with the other. A small emerald and silver ring adorned his left index finger.

_"Hello, Salazar,"_

Portrait Salazar regarded her with interest. "_Ah! A parselmouth, who's somehow tricked the Sorting hat into placing her in Gryffindor! What is your name, child?"_

"_My name is Hermione now, but I also go by Sally or Sal," _Hermione brushed her hair behind her ear, making sure that portrait Sal got a good look at the emerald ring on her own finger. She could see her past self thinking fast. "_Remember that ridiculous conjecture you had, just before you left Hogwarts?"_

Grey eyes widened. _"It ...worked?!"_

"_Apparently so. But let's talk somewhere else. Mortal dread,"_ Hermione smiled, stepping into the secret passage that led to the entrance of the Great Hall. She then climbed a flight of stairs and made her way to the "Chamber of Secrets", as the rest of the school had taken to calling it, to find portrait Salazar, portrait Godric, portrait Rowena and portrait Helga in the midst of a loud argument.

"Sal, are you feeling ill?" portrait Helga tugged at portrait Salazar's sleeve, "You're acting so strangely today..."

"Yeah Sally," said portrait Godric, "First you run into our portraits, screaming, "I'm back! I'm back!", and then you drag us off without any explanation! What was that all about?"

"Where are we, Sal?" Asked portrait Rowena.

"My room," said portrait Salazar, "listen -"

"Ohh so this is Salazar's secret chamber that we could never find! I knew he didn't sleep in his office!"

"Really? Then why did he have that lounge chair thing -"

"Now is not the time to discuss my office!" Portrait Salazar yelled over them, "I brought you here because -"

"Merlin's beard! Is that a basilisk?!"

"Yes," Hermione said helpfully.

"And you berated me for wanting a dragon?" Godric sulked.

"You can't be sure the dragon won't burn you to crisps," portrait Salazar pointed out, "Esmeralda is my friend. She's intelligent."

"But if I had more time, I could've trained it to behave!"

Hermione arched her brows with amusement. "What, by tickling it? Perhaps someone might eventually be able to train a dragon, Godric, but certainly not you. It requires much more common sense than you possess."

Portrait Godric, Helga and Rowena finally noticed her. They gaped.

"Salazar Slytherin! Why in Merlin's name is there a girl in your bedroom?!"

Hermione felt like hitting her head against the wall. Esmeralda raised her head with interest, not really understanding.

Portrait Godric continued to cluck his tongue, oblivious to the intensifying strangulation hazard standing beside him, "Really, Sal! What have you been doing? And it's one of my students, too..."

Portrait Salazar exploded. "I'm a freaking PAINTING! What did you think I could be doing?! Use your bloody HEAD! ... And Sal! Stop laughing and help me control this dunderhead!"

Hermione conceded as well as she could while struggling to keep herself from doubling over. Wandlessly, she fired several blasting spells until they quieted down. "My name is Hermione Granger, previously Salazar Slytherin. As much as I appreciate your highly entertaining welcome, Godric, please stop harassing my portrait. I do have a reputation to maintain."

Rowena blinked. "Sal? Is that really you?"

"I did tell you I'm back," portrait Salazar deadpanned.

Hermione chuckled. "I've charted the uncharted territory, Rowena, or some of it at least. While I was investingating what _avada kedavra_ does to souls, I had a crazy thought that maybe a dissipated soul can reform itself, or something of the sort. This would mean that under the right conditions, a person can temporarily die and return to the world some time later..."

Rowena listened carefully. "I suppose it would be plausible, if your theory on the properties and behaviour of souls is correct," she whispered after thinking for some time, "but the idea of it just sounds so _strange_!"

"What's even more surprising is that I would actually continue to investigate and try something so ridiculous," portrait Salazar remarked.

Hermione shrugged. "The evidence kept stacking up, and eventually I couldn't resist. But tell me, have you any idea what went wrong with my House?"

They frowned.

"You know better than anyone that ambition is a powerful drive, " Helga looked at her sadly, "And without careful guidance, it could easily become wasted or misdirected on the wrong things. And professors - no, mentors as good as you are very difficult to come by... I'm so sorry, Sal."

"I see," Hermione murmured, "It seems I've taken a bite too big when I designed my sorting criteria..."

"We've tried," portrait Rowena shook her head, "but no one listens to paintings. They don't even stop when they pass by us."

"People don't even know who I am anymore," portrait Salazar laughed drily, "Not that I'm inclined to remind them. I suspect the Gryffindors might try to burn me down if they find out."

"Only the headmaster actually talks to us," said portrait Godric, "the current one, Albus Dumbledore, is the best we've seen in a long time. Rowena, he's from your house, right?"

"Oh yes, he's very knowledgeable, and his intelligence is extraordinary."

"He's rather experienced with manipulating people too," portrait Salazar commented, "commendable, really. He organized one of the chief resistance forces to combat Lord Voldemort. I've been paying attention to their meetings. Dumbledore doesn't trust me, though. Sometimes I pretend to be asleep."

"About this Lord Voldemort," Hermione remembered, "From what I gathered, he seemed to be fighting for pureblood supremacy - but more importantly, world domination. He seemed to be quite successful as well, before he'd decided to kill a baby. Any idea why he would do that?"

"I've heard Dumbledore and Snape discuss a prophecy involving the self-made Dark Lord and an infant born at the end of July," said portrait Salazar. "Worthless gibberish, as you know."

Hermione nodded. "Unless the subjects believe it, in which case it becomes self-fulfilling. I see a possible motive now, but I'm still in the dark as to what actually happened to him when he tried to curse Harry Potter."

"Dumbledore asked us for our opinion on this as well," portrait Rowena said. "We think that most likely he had weakened himself in someway that he was forced to go into hiding. It was hard to say, as no one witnessed the scene, and half the house was in ashes by the time people got to it."

Hermione thought for a while. "Does Dumbledore believe the prophesy?"

"He says he is keeping an open mind," said portrait Salazar, "but deep down, I think he does."

"Which means -"

"-Yes. Young Harry has an eventful seven years ahead of him."

"You said Dumbledore and Snape, the current potion master. What's his significance?"

Portrait Salazar's eyes gleamed. "From what I gathered, Dumbledore guilt-tripped Snape into spying on the Death Eaters for him."

Hermione found herself anticipating Friday's potion lesson. Professor Snape should prove to be a very interesting and nuanced character. After some time, she stood. "I'll try to salvage as much from my House's situation as I can, I suppose. And if Voldemort is still alive, then I've returned at a very interesting time. Talk to you again soon?"

The four founders in the painting nodded.

"I still can't believe our Sally blossomed into a beautiful young lady!" Portrait Godric suddenly guffawed, eyes shining, "To think I've teased you with that nickname for so many years, and then -"

"Flattered, but not interested, Godric," Hermione called flippantly, and stepped out of the chamber to the cackling of her own portrait self.

* * *

**A.N.: I just ate two slices of cake and am now on a sugar high lol... This may have made the chapter just a little bit weird.**


	8. Year 1: Chapter 7

Friday. Double Potion with the Slytherins.

Hermione had arrived early to take a seat at the front of the class. The Slytherin students strolled lazily in after her as if they owned the place. Her fellow Gryffindors, having heard various unpleasant rumours about the Potion professor, hung back with drooping heads and were the last to come in. Draco Malfoy gave her a small shove as he passed. "So, _Granger, _words' getting around that you're a mudblood. And to think I almost sat beside you on the train," he sneered.

'_Already?' _Hermione thought. This was promising. It seemed that some Gryffindors and Slytherins still maintained contact, after all. But back to the subject of Malfoy. He appeared displeased that he didn't obtain a reaction from her. "Filthy mudblood," he muttered, taking a seat in the row behind her.

The pattern in which the room filled up was rather interesting. No Slytherin dared sit beside a "mudblood", and no Gryffindor (except her) dared sit near Snape. As a result, Hermione ended up with a whole table to herself.

Professor Snape spelled the door shut, took one look at the class, and sneered. He then proceeded to take the roll call, pausing at Harry's name.

"Ah yes, Harry Potter. Our new celebrity."

Malfoy and bodyguards (Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle) sniggered.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

He sounded bitter, Hermione thought. Perhaps he disliked his job? Unlikely. He understood potions and revered it. Perhaps there was another job that he'd wanted as well, then? Or maybe he just didn't like children? She sat closer to the edge of her seat, partly to get a better look at Snape and partly because Malfoy might start doing something to her hair. She didn't fight with children and she was sure that the boy couldn't really hurt her, but it was better not to tempt him.

"Potter!" said Professor Snape suddenly, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to a infusion of wormwood?"

This was advanced first-year material. She wouldn't blame Harry if he had no idea. Hermione raised her hand, intending to rescue Harry, but Snape ignored her. Interesting. Had he some sort of grudge against Harry? Or perhaps Harry's family?

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

"Tut, tut- fame clearly isn't everything. Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione was ignored again.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

She internally winced on Harry's behalf. Even Salazar would not ask students to use this poisonous plant, also apparently called aconium or aconite or something like that, until third year. What was the point of learning it now?

"I don't know," said Harry quietly, "I think Sally does, though. Why don't you try her -"

"For your information, Potter," Snape spoke over him, not even bothering to turn around and see who this Sally was, "asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying this down?"

Like everyone else, Hermione scribbled the points down on her parchment so that she would not attract Professor Snape's wrath. "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter," she heard Snape say over the noise.

Their harsh potion master then divided everyone into pairs, except for Hermione who had no partner due to the seating arrangements. Hermione watched Snape from the corner of her eye as she prepared the ingredients for the simple potion. He seemed to be criticizing everyone except for Malfoy, who he seemed to like, though Slytherins generally received better treatment than Gryffindors. Hermione herself was ignored for the entirety of the lesson. It made sense - _somewhat_. If Snape was still spying for Dumbledore, then he would need to maintain good standing with Draco's father.

Her potion was near completion when clouds of acid green smoke erupted from the back of the class, followed by a whimper from Neville. "Idiot boy!" Snape snarled, "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire? Take him to the hospital wing. And Potter! Why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

Hermione looked sympathetically at the angry red boils all over Neville's arms. _'He should sit with me next time. Especially since my table is the last place Professor Snape would look,"_

Madame Pomfrey, the Mediwitch, patched Neville up in minutes. Unfortunately, the boy's fear of potion-making and Snape would most likely linger for a while longer.

Upon returning to the common room, Hermione heard a collective groan from her housemates. Apparently a notice had been posted, announcing that the much anticipated Thursday flying lessons would be shared with the Slytherin's as well.

"I don't see why you're all so worried," she told them, "Traditionally, at Hogwarts, Quidditch is a Gryffindor sport." Of the four founders, Godric did spend the most time flying around on a broom.

This seemed to comfort some people. "Which book is our little Ravenclaw quoting now?" Lavender teased.

"Quidditch Throughout the Ages, probably," Hermione shrugged. She had indeed been flipping through such a title. "Here, you can read through it if you like, but I have to return it to the library tomorrow."

Lavender politely declined.

It seemed that the notice did nothing to dampen the enthusiasm of either house, however. The children from magical families told many fanciful stories about flying, while the muggleborns listened desperately for anything that might help them stay airborne later on. Malfoy boasted loudly about flying around the countryside and nearly escaping muggles in helicopters. Even Ron told anyone who would listen about the time he'd nearly collided with a hang glider.

Hermione ate in silence, having little interest in a discussion involving the intricacies of Quidditch. It seemed that Ron didn't approve of her "prim and proper attitude", she thought with mild amusement, noting his little eye-roll at the way she cut her sausages into small pieces before eating them one at a time with a fork._ 'Well forgive me for having manners,' _she repressed a chuckle.

On Thursday morning, all the Gryffindor and Slytherin students lined up in a row.

In front of each person was a broomstick. The coach, Madam Hooch, blew a whistle. "Stick out your right hand over your broom, and say 'Up!'"

"Up!" Everyone shouted. Hermione's broom rose into her hand obediently. It was old and worn, but much more shapely and fine-tuned than the ones they'd used when Hogwarts was new. Looking left and right, she saw that only a handful of students were holding their brooms. Harry was among them.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the row correcting their grips. "You don't need to grip the handle quite so hard," she said when she got to Hermione, "But otherwise your posture is excellent. Have you flown before?"

_'It has to be, or else those demented contraptions Godric insisted that we rode would've killed me a dozen times over,' _Hermione cringed undetectably at the memory."No, but I'm good at following directions,"

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle - three - two -"

Neville, afraid to be left on the ground kicked off before the whistle even touched her lips. He shot straight up like a cork, despite Madam Hooch's shouts of "Come back, boy!"

Hermione trained her wand, concealed in her robe, on Neville's broom, slowly changing its trajectory until it was no longer ascending. She heard Madam Hooch breath a sigh of relief, evidently thinking that Neville's got the broom under control. '_Now to bring you back down,'_ Hermione thought, gently tilting the broom forward.

Unfortunately, this movement startled the boy. He gasped, slipped sideways and landed in a heap. Madam Hooch ran to him, face as white as his. "Broken wrist," Hermione heard he mutter. "Come on, boy - it's all right, up you get... None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'. Come on dear."

The moment she was out of earshot, Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

Around eight other Slytherins joined in.

"There's an adage that says the weak delights in the misery of others," Hermione stated as if pointing out something commonplace, "now how does that reflect on you?" Her voice, though calm, had its effect. They paused.

"Shut up, mudblood," said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. She sneered at her, though she lost the mood to laugh.

Then Malfoy darted forward and snatched something out of the grass. "Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

A Remembrall, Hermione thought. She'd seen one in Diagon Alley during the summer.

"Give that here, Malfoy," Harry said. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Malfoy smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find - how about... Up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had already taken off. He hovered above an oak tree, waved the Remembrall and called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

'_We're really getting a little too cocky here, aren't we?'_ Hermione thought, discreetly training her wand on Malfoy.

To her horror, Harry leapt onto his own broom as well. "No! You'll get into trouble!" She shouted. She could handle this, and everyone would be safely back on the ground in no time!

But oh no, that reckless Gryffindor had to ignore her in favour of launching himself at Malfoy as a human javelin. "Give it here, or I'll knock you off that broom!"

Hermione sighed. '_Let's get this over with as soon as possible,'_ she thought, gradually tilting Malfoy's broom forward until the boy began to doubt his control.

"No Crabbe or Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy!" Harry called.

"Catch it if you can, then!" Malfoy decided that perhaps he was safer on the ground after all. He threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the group of gathered students.

Very good, Hermione thought. '_Accio_ -' she prepared to cast, then noticed that Harry was actually angling himself to chase after the ball! '_Stupid Gryffindor! What's worth more, eh? This glass orb, or your neck?'_

Shaking her head slightly, she slowed the Remembrall just a little, so that Harry could catch it and have enough time to make a gentle landing.

"HARRY POTTER!"

Professor McGonagall was running toward them. Hermione saw Harry gulp nervously. '_Serves him right,'_ she watched as the stern professor drag Harry off, presumably to detention, '_perhaps Professor McGonagall could teach him some common sense.'_


	9. Year 1: Chapter 8

At dinner, Hermione had to keep her mouth from dropping open when she overheard that instead of a detention, Harry got a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Only in Gryffindor would students be rewarded for such reckless behaviour.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle strolled over to the Gryffindor table smugly. They were under the very logical expectation that Harry would be expelled. Naturally, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were not pleased to see them. Naturally, to defend their Gryffindor honour, they _had_ to arrange a duel.

"Excuse me," Hermione walked over to remind them of something they seemed to have forgotten.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" Ron grumbled.

_'Well that's nice of you!' _Hermione ignored him. "I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying -"

"Bet you could,"

"- and you're really pushing your luck here. See, Crabbe is bigger than the two of you put together - "

"And it's really none of your business. Good bye,"

'_Fine! Get your nose broken. See if I care,' _Hermione thought with exasperation. She'd babysitted the Gryffindors for long enough, and in all likelihood Malfoy wouldn't even show up. In all likelihood, Malfoy would go straight to Filch then laugh at their plight from the safety of the Slytherin common room.

Besides, she really did have her own business to do tonight.

She'd wondered about the forbidden third floor corridor since the Welcoming Feast. It was apparently dangerous, yet Dumbledore's warning implied that students could gain entry after all. She'd like to go and find out what was there. She strongly doubted she would be the first student to try, and besides, she didn't intend to get caught.

Disillusioning herself as usual, she waited till midnight and silently slipped out of the portrait hole after the sneaking forms of Harry and Ron. They didn't get far, however, before they heard a sort of snuffling. The boys in front of her stopped. "Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, voice trembling.

It turned out to be Neville, who was sleeping on the floor for some reason. He jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer. "Thanks goodness you found me!" He exclaimed loudly, "I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed."

"Keep your voice down, Neville," Harry quickly shushed him, "The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now. The Fat Lady's gone off somewhere. How's your arm?"

"Fine," said Neville.

"Good - well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere. We'll see you later -"

"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to stay here alone. The Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

Hermione wanted to tell Neville that he would be safer here, actually, but then she would have to explain why she was invisible. _'Have fun, boys,_' she thought, leaving them to make for the Charms corridor. The forbidden door was easy enough to find, and easy enough to open. Any first year could've done it by the end of the year.

Beyond it, though, the three-headed dog was a different matter. It couldn't see her, but it was starting to sniff around. Quickly casting an enhanced bubblehead charm to cut off her scent, she had to wonder what Professor Dumbledore was thinking. Was he deliberately enticing first years to come and meet the dog? Some sort of trial for Harry?

She silently moved around the dog, being careful not to disturb the room in anyway. Apart from the dog, she found nothing extraordinary. _'This room is the one with the hidden trapdoor, if I remember correctly?' _

She peered under the dog's paws. There was indeed a trapdoor, but it was no longer hidden. It seemed that Dumbledore had intended for whoever enters the room to find it. Was this a deathtrap to lure intruders, or would it lead to another trial? And what was supposed to entice someone to open it at the risk of decapitation by dog bite?

Suddenly, the door was flung open, and three panting Gryffindors burst inside. _'Blast!' _Hermione cursed. She'd left the doors unlocked to provide herself a quick escape should it become necessary, but who would've thought _those three_ would come in here? They were supposed to be in the trophy room!

"I think Filch's gone," Ron said with relief (?!), leaning against the door to rest. He did not notice the salivating dog, who had definitely noticed them and who was definitely becoming angry. Neville eventually noticed this, but he was scared so stiff that he could do little more than tug weakly on Harry's sleeve. The dog crept closer. There was no choice. Hermione circled behind them and revealed herself. "Are you crazy? Get away from that dog!" she hissed.

"How did you -" Ron jumped. Hermione grabbed him and wheeled him around to face the bared yellow teeth of the dog, holding a hand over his mouth to muffle the anticipated scream. The four of them fell backward through the door, slammed it shut, and fled back to the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" She asked, looking them over.

"Never mind that - pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry. They scrambled into the common room and promptly collapsed into the armchairs. "Sally, where did you come from?"

"I was following you. _Someone_ has to make sure you don't lose any house points,"

"But how come we didn't see you?"

"That's your problem. Honestly, if Filch had been sneaking up behind you, you would've been caught for sure!"

"Well you weren't much help either!" Ron yelled back.

Certain that they'd bought her story, Hermione stood, glaring. "I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could've all been killed - or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed." This seemed to have sealed the effect nicely, as Ron could be heard mumbling, "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?"

She expected they would be avoiding her like the three-headed dog starting tomorrow, but whatever. She had much more important things to think about, such as...

... What exactly was Dumbledore keeping under the trapdoor?

The next morning, a disgruntled Hermione looked on as Harry was awarded a broom for yesterday's recklessness.

_'Honestly, what kind of message is this supposed to send? Priorities, McGonagall, priorities...'_ It seemed that though she had more sense than most, Professor McGonagall was still a Gryffindor at heart.

Over the next two months, Hermione made it a habit to visit her secret chamber once a week, though not on any specific days. There, she was safe to talk to Esmeralda, review her research notes and practice spells that would make the professors cringe. The portraits of her friends sometimes came to join her. They listened curiously to her description of the muggle world - Portrait Salazar had some idea of its development, but he still couldn't believe his ears - and told her about the things they'd seen happen at Hogwarts over the millennium.

She'd found a small snake scratched into the side of a tap one day, which she promptly removed. Her "heir's" work, no doubt. She'd also discovered that the ghost of the student that Esmeralda accidentally killed still resided in the bathroom. Myrtle seemed to take a liking to Hermione (the ghost felt especially flattered to be asked about her death), and swore not to reveal the entrance of the chamber to anyone though it still saddened Hermione to look at her.

Finally, Hermione did indeed find a "Tom Marvolo Riddle" by asking to see a record of student names in the Room of Requirements. Head boy and Prefect, huh? And an award for blowing the whistle on one Rubeus Hagrid for accidentally causing the death of a student fifty years ago? What a _likely_ coincidence. The next step was to find out what became of him.

And Hagrid would be receiving a notice that his criminal record had been cleared in a quiet ruling, either this year or the next at the very least.

She'd continued to sit in the first row in Potions. The Slytherins continued to avoid the seat beside her as if it was contaminated, though they fought for the tables in her vicinity, realizing that they could triple their success rates by copying her. Malfoy continued to attempt to sabotage either her hair or her cauldron, though never succeeding. And Professor Snape continued to ignore her presence.

On Halloween, Professor Flitwick deemed the class ready for the levitation charm. Hermione ended up partnered with Ron, who seemed to be incredibly annoyed with this arrangement even when she sat back and let him have the feather all to himself. The class wasn't making too much progress, she'd noticed. All the feathers lay stubbornly on the table, and Harry and Seamus's feather was on fire.

"Wingardium Levios-a!" Ron shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"It'll be easier if you change your pronunciation," Hermione told him, "Try Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa. make the 'gar' nice and long."

He snarled at her. "You do it then, if you're so clever!"

Sometimes she forget she was no longer a professor, Hermione thought as she demonstrated the correct way of levitating a feather. Ron clearly didn't appreciate her instructing, and was now in a very bad mood. Predictably, the remainder of the lesson wasn't much more pleasant. Ron continued to glare and sigh exaggeratedly and wave his baboon-like arms, somehow managing to hit Hermione in the eye. Of course, Hermione knew better than to expect an apology.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," she heard Ron say to Harry as they pushed their way into the corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly."

Hermione found it difficult to think how anyone could stand _him, _but that wasn't her concern. Still rubbing her eye and wondering how she failed to see that one coming, she pushed past them, eager to head to her Chamber for some peace and quiet among her research papers.

"I think she heard you," she heard Harry mutter from behind her.

Ron's reply was, "So? She must've realized she has no friends." The insolent child.

However, by around seven o'clock, Hermione realized that she couldn't put off rejoining _her fellow_ children any longer. Such a pity - she'd gotten more done in the last two hours than perhaps her entire morning.

A putrid odour assaulted her nostrils as she emerged from the secret tunnel. It was coming from outside.

"Myrtle, has anything happened while I was gone?" Hermione frowned.

The ghost shook her head. "No one came in. They all hate me too much."

"Please don't say such depressing things about yourself, Myrtle. You're a wonderful girl," Hermione told her. All the while, she was listening carefully. Was that... footsteps?

"Thanks, Sally," Myrtle sniffed, "you're the only friend I have -"

The door crashed in before she could finish. Myrtle gasped. A mountain troll lumbered in, crunching pieces of the door under its feet. It was evidently confused.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Imperio," she cast, and the troll's eyes promptly clouded over.

'_Walk out of here. Walk down the stairs until there is no where else to go. Turn left and walk out of the castle. Go back home.'_

The troll slowly turned around and waddled toward the hallway. Trolls were simple creatures, she knew. They were very suggestible, though difficult to control as they were easily distracted. Nevertheless, if she did this right, they would be rid of the troll without any injuries, property damage or messes to clean up. With luck, no one would even know it's been here. _'Avoid people on your way out. Don't make trouble. That's it. There's a good boy -'_

"Sally! There's a troll in the school!" Harry and Ron suddenly charged in, causing the troll to turn around and blink curiously at them.

They actually came up here to _rescue_ her? "Stay away!" Hermione called while trying not to startle the troll, but the two Gryffindor _heroes_ didn't listen.

"Don't worry, Sally! We'll distract him!" Harry shouted as Ron chucked a piece of wood at its head.

"No!" Hermione yelled, but it was too late. The troll shook its lumpy head in anger, voiding all her carefully cajoling along with any future chances of keeping it under control. It stormed toward the boys, who backed up nervously. '_Damned Gryffindors and their bravery!' _Hermione cursed, exasperated. She would need to knock it out, then.

"Run! Get out of here!" She deliberately yelled loudly to shift the troll's attention away from them. _'Now what's a nice simple first year spell that can do the job?'_

"We're not leaving without you, Sally!" Instead of running for the door, Harry ran at the troll and launched himself onto its neck. '_For the love of Merlin!'_ She thought as he stuck his wand (Wand! Not even a sword or a dagger!) up its nose. Below, Ron was darting left and right to avoid the troll's stamping feet while screaming his head off, but still refused to leave. Godric would be so proud.

She trained her wand on the troll's heavy club. "Wingardium leviosa," she intoned clearly. Three pairs of eyes stared in fascination at the hovering club. Harry had enough sense at least to get off the troll to allow the club to drop over its head. The troll spun drunkenly then crashed to the floor, taking down several U-bends with it. Myrtle screamed, diving into her own U-bend in terror.

"What on Earth are you thinking?! You could've been killed!" Professor McGonagall rushed in, followed by Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell. Beside Hermione, the boys looked at each other, white-faced, no doubt wondering how to salvage their chances of keeping some house points.

Hermione shook her head. What was she going to do with them? "Please, professor," she sobbed reasonably realistically, "They came to look for me. I went looking for the troll because I thought - I thought I could deal with it on my own -"

_'And bloody well would've if they hadn't been so BRAVE-'_

"- because I've read so much about them. If not for them, I would've died! Harry pushed his wand up its nostril-"

_'- like that's going to do any good -'_

"- and Ron used the levitation charm to knock it out! They didn't have time to call anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived..."

The boys looked shocked at her lie, but tried to look as if the story wasn't new to them.

Professor McGonagall scolded her thoroughly and took off five points as punishment. However, Hermione was certain that their head of house would award twice that amount to Ron and Harry, the moment she leaves. Hanging her head, Hermione gently pushed past the stunned boys.

"Please have a little more regard for your own lives," she whispered in their ears, "but thank you for caring."

Ah, Gryffindors. But sometimes, you just had to put up with them.


	10. Year 1: Chapter 9

Ever since the troll incident, Harry and Ron had been much more friendly to Hermione, having finally accepted the "stuck-up know-it-all" as one of them. Hermione had taken the opportunity to pressure Ron into learning the levitation charm since, as she told him, "What would Professor Flitwick say if you can't levitate a feather when you've supposedly levitated a club?"

Hermione learned a number of things from talking to them, including the existence of a small inconspicuously wrapped package that someone attempted to steal from Gringotts, but didn't succeed as it had been removed by Hagrid and Harry that same day. This was the bait for Dumbledore's trap, she supposed. For whom, she wasn't sure. From the Gringotts break-in, it seemed that the object was sought after by a relatively skilled wizard. But not too strong, she'd expect, if Harry was supposed to compete with him. This was only the practice run. Surely Professor Dumbledore wouldn't expose the prophesy child to something or someone he had little chance of surviving against.

It seemed that Harry and Ron had taken the bait as well. They told her that they'd noticed the trapdoor, and had arrived at the conclusion that the dog was guarding something. They did not seem inclined to go back and find out what it was, at least not yet.

But that quickly changed when one day when Snape had made the mistake of changing his bandage in the staff room, thus permitting Harry to see the reason for his limp since Halloween.

Harry, understandably, ran back telling them that Snape was evil and trying to steal whatever the three-headed dog was guarding.

Hermione had persuaded them to at least not _appear_ to be suspicious, lest they get themselves into trouble. Besides, she reminded them, what protection could they offer the mysterious object that the dog could not?

Meanwhile, her own suspicion for Quirrell grew. Like Snape, Quirrell had been left alone when all the teachers went down to the dungeon to look for the troll. Supposing the troll really did make it from the dungeon to the second floor in the short time it took for Quirrell to faint and for the rest of the staff to run downstairs, what were the chances that they'd so completely missed each other that no one heard or smelled anything?

Moreover, her portrait self said he'd seen no troll at any point that day, nor did he see Quirrell.

It now seemed likely that Quirrell let the troll into the castle as a distraction. To buy himself time to investigate the third floor corridor? Or something else?

This raised another point. Why bother with a troll at all? Whatever Quirrell needed to do on Halloween was no more risky to do at night. Was he somehow incapacitated then?

Hermione was one to take her own advice. As far as Quirrell was concerned, she was just an obedient student who listened politely in class, handed in detailed essays and never made any trouble. She would be the last person he needed to watch out for. Though, Hermione wondered if Dumbledore knew, and if this was why he hired Quirrell in the first place. Was Quirrell meant to be Harry's "test"? Or perhaps he'd thought Quirrell needed watching? Quirrell took a year-long sabbatical and came back drastically different. Perhaps Dumbledore was interested in something he'd done or encountered during his travels?

Portrait Salazar hadn't thought much of Quirrell until now, meaning that if there had been anything worth noting in Quirrell's past, Dumbledore didn't let him hear it. Portrait Godric, Rowena and Helga didn't know much about the once bright, if a little bookish, student either. They were still very much in the dark.

On the subject of Dumbledore, Hermione observed him peering at Harry from the high table on more than one occasion. His gaze was, as her portrait self described, sharp and penetrating. She couldn't say whether he was employing legilimency (and she'd set up a partial occulumency shield just in case), though the headmaster could probably do a fine job without it as well. He must've heard all the reports about Harry's adventures. What did he think of the boy's progress?

But on the surface at least, Hermione thought, life at Hogwarts was as usual. The bulk of the Gryffindor population was excitedly discussing their upcoming Quidditch game with the Slytherins, as well as their new Seeker. Lavender and Parvarti told her dreamily about a Hufflepuff third-year, Cedric Diggory, who they found rather handsome. Ron was teaching Harry to play chess and ignoring his Potion essay, now that he knew Hermione would be there to help him finish it anyways. This she greatly disapproved of, though there was only so much she could do. They didn't all have to become potion experts, after all.

By now, it was generally accepted that Hermione always knew something about everything, because she would've read about it somewhere. The very useful impression was fuelled by her frequent visits to the library and the stack of advanced titles she carried in her arms. "Sally's a Gryffindor, but she really belongs in Ravenclaw," she'd heard them say when they introduce her sometimes.

Hermione just smiled, accepting the compliment.

* * *

Blaise Zabini was not doing well on his Potion essay, not well at all.

His mother had been owling him to tell him that she expected him to get high scores in Potion, as it was her best subject at Beauxbaton. She had no idea, he thought gloomily, what kind of mental _grilling_ Professor Snape was subjecting them to.

She'd scoffed when he told her this. "Nonsense! They all say Professor Snape favours you Slytherins! You're just not trying hard enough."

Well yeah, but it didn't mean they all automatically got high marks! That kind of treatment was bestowed upon Malfoy and Malfoy only. The rest of them may be exempt from detentions, but only just. In everything else, Slytherins had to struggle as much as the rest of the school.

In class, he had a lifeline, and he'd congratulated himself on being among the first to spot it. He'd noticed that the potion of the mudblood girl in the first row, Granger, was always turning out perfectly. It changed colour and bubbled exactly as the book said it would. It didn't take a genius to see that her brewing was far better than the rest of the class, including Malfoy's. Heck, even Snape couldn't find a fault in it!

So he'd carefully watched her cut up her ingredients and imitated, dropping things into his cauldron exactly when she did it. This paid off, as the mark on his potion samples rose from an "Unsatisfactory" to "Exceed Expectations".

On the homework assignments, though, he was on his own. His housemates were not very keen on helping each other, nor very keen on doing honest work. They sometime forget, Blaise thought as he skimmed through rows of books in the library for anything that would help him fill five pages of parchment, that ultimately they needed to actually learn the material to amount to anything. They couldn't cling to the coattails of their ancestors forever! Well, perhaps Malfoy could. The rest of them were wealthy, but they weren't exactly rolling in gold.

There was someone further down the row. Granger. Perhaps she would be willing to help him? He hadn't called her a mudblood yet, had he? And he hadn't laughed too loudly when Malfoy stole Longbottom's Rememberall, had he? There was no reason why she should be mad at _him_.

_'What am I thinking? Granger's a mudblood and a Gryffindor!'_ He couldn't just ask her to help him with Potions! He would be betraying his house! But on the other hand, he really was desperate...

No, Blaise told himself, this was resourcefulness. Wasn't it Slytherin to make use of anything they could get their hands on? Wouldn't it be Slytherin to take advantage of Granger's intelligence?

He nervously glanced left and right. There was not a soul in sight. So far, so good.

Gulping, he discreetly shuffled closer toward her. She didn't notice him yet, or she would've ran away. He was in control of the situation. So far, so good.

"Erm, Granger?" Blaise blurted out. No, that didn't sound right. He had to seem nice. What was her first name again? "Her... Hermy-inini?"

Oh no, that wasn't how Snape pronounced it. He'd gotten it wrong, didn't he?

Granger turned. "Call me Sally," she smiled (?) "All my friends do. It's much easier."

Sally? That would be much safer than Granger, should they be overheard. He would start calling her Sally. Or better yet, "Can I call you Sal?"

A certain un-Gryffindorish gleam flashed in her eyes, but he must've imagined it. "Certainly. How may I help you, Blaise?"

"Actually, I was hoping you could explain to me how the Draught of Living Death works..." Blaise tried not to look too eager. He couldn't believe how well this was going!

"Of course," She smiled brightly, "The Draught of Living Death is a potent sleep potion that works by inhibiting a particular part of your mind..."

He was saved! Blaise though as he sat down next to Sal and picked up his quill to write. Perhaps having a muggleborn friend wouldn't be so bad after all.


	11. Year 1: Chapter 10

The next morning was the big game between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Hermione had been dragged by Ron out to the Quidditch field early after breakfast. "This game can move Gryffindor into second place!" He emphasized, "You need to come and show support for your house!"

Taking a seat on the cold benches, Hermione discreetly cast a warming charm over herself. She didn't give a fig about Quidditch. If it hadn't been Harry's first game, and if Harry hadn't been (supposedly) the youngest Seeker in ages, she would've refused.

it appeared, though, that many of the professors shared Ron's sentiment. Professor McGonagall was standing watchfully beside the commentator, which was wise since Lee Jordan happened to be good friends with the "one or two" troublemakers mentioned by Percy. Hagrid had excited taken a seat beside Ron, grinning like a child. Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell were there as well, though they didn't look like the sort to enjoy such a pointless game. Indeed, Snape seemed about as riveted as Hermione felt. Or perhaps that was his default expression?

The two teams, Gryffindors in scarlet and Slytherins in emerald, met on the center of the field. On Madam Hooch's whistle, the snitch was released and the game begun. Hermione leaned back, applauded politely whenever Gryffindor scored, and tried to react appropriately when Ron yelled in shocked outrage at the Slytherin captain's antics. She didn't see how people could be expected to play by the rules when clearly the penalty for a foul is preferable to allowing the opponent to catch the snitch. But then again, the whole premis of the game must not be contemplated too closely with reason.

Lee's commentary was much more entertaining. "So - after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating -"

"Jordan!" Growled Professor McGonagall, ever so impartial.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul -"

"Jordan, I'm warning you -"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly killed the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure..."

'_Actually, I won't doubt it if that's exactly what those Bludgers are designed for... Wait. What's happening?'_ Above them, Harry's broom was jerking and climbing in a strange, and worrying, manner. Hermione narrowed her eyes. Collisions and Bludgers were one thing, but losing control was a whole new level of risk. Had someone hijacked Harry's broom?

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, voice shaking, "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful dark magic - No kid could do that to a Nimbus 2000!"

True, for the most part. The magic she'd used to control Neville and Malfoy's brooms during their first flying lesson was far too complicated for students, and would be quite challenging for most wizards presumably. It took more than a memorized incantation - the jinxer would need to think on the fly and adjust second by second. Hermione borrowed Hagrid's binoculars and zoomed in on Quirrell. As she suspected, he had his eyes fixed on Harry and was wearing an expression of intense concentration. His lips never stopped moving for a second.

A row behind him, Snape was doing the same thing. It was unlikely that he and Quirrell were working together. If they knew how to jinx a broom, they would know that it was a one person job. Too many casters would only weaken the effect. Most likely, Snape was casting a counterjinx.

With her other hand, Hermione slid her wand out of her pocket and trained it on a Bludger, causing it to zoom a little bit too close to the audience stand for comfort. A good many front row students fell backwards out of their seats, jostling the row behind them. In the commotion, Quirrell was forced to break eye contact.

'_Well that took care of that_,' Hermione thought as Harry righted himself on his broom again and quickly pulled into a smooth landing. Bludgers were unreliable by nature. Neither Quirrell nor Snape should suspect a third party involvement, especially when it didn't seem to be targeting anyone specifically. And Bludgers were far easier to jinx than brooms. She wondered why Quirrell didn't think of this in the first place.

Her thoughts were disrupted by a loud cheer that erupted among the Gryffindors, followed by an angry hiss among the Slytherins. "We won!" Ron shook her shoulders excitedly, "Harry caught the snitch!"

"Swallowed!" Down at the field, the Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint, was arguing with Madam Hooch, "He didn't catch it, he swallowed it!" But he was fighting a losing battle, because there were no rules that demands Seekers to catch the snitch with their hands. But then again, it never really said the Seeker cannot loop it with a butterfly net either...

Perhaps it was a blessing for the world that Salazar, or Hermione, hadn't been a fan of Quidditch.

The Gryffindors chanted victoriously as they accompanied their team back to the castle. Harry and Ron tried to discuss what happened to Harry's broom, with little success. Then Fred and George had managed to obtain some cake from the Hogwarts kitchen, and that was sufficient to distract Ron for the time being. Snickering lightly at this, Hermione withdrew to a relatively quiet corner to continue her reflection.

Until today, she had been sure that Quirrell was a part of Professor Dumbledore's "training" for Harry. Quirrell was supposed to race against Harry to whatever lay at the end of the third-floor corridor. He may be highly skilled, he may be a criminal, but he would be a planned adversary.

But then he tried to kill a harmless eleven-year-old. Why? It had no bearing whatsoever on what should be his objective. From his perspective, a first-year student was as big a threat as a fly. Why bother with Harry at all?

More importantly, why would Dumbledore intentionally pit Harry against someone with such a moral compass? Did he realize that Harry may very well die for real this year? Why would he risk it?

Had she been wrong about both of them?

Harry was the Chosen One.

If she considered the prophesy, then it all made sense. If Quirrell was working for Voldemort, then he would not only interested in the mysterious object but also Harry himself. He might decide that Harry must be killed in order to prepare for his master's return. And Dumbledore might feel that he had no choice, that Harry wouldn't stand a chance in the future if he hadn't been exposed to these comparably smaller - though still life-threatening - risks first.

Could she get rid of Quirrell first? Certainly. But it would be unwise.

Quirrell was a complication that she had not expected. She didn't think Voldemort would need to factor into her consideration so soon. But still, if Voldemort - or Dumbledore, for that matter - found out about her he would very likely wish to remove her from the equation, and she would really rather not end up duelling him with her undeveloped, child-like magic. She would stick to her original plan of staying out of trouble... as much as her conscience allowed. She could not just stand by and let Harry and Ron get themselves killed either.

But just because she didn't want to fight Quirrell herself didn't mean she couldn't amuse herself by making his tenure as professor quite frustrating. This may have been the reason why Quirrell's chair so unluckily tipped over when he tried to get up at dinner, or why Quirrell had the misfortune of slipping and skidding down the front steps the next morning. Oddly enough, Hermione thought he'd almost looked thankful when he landed on his bottom that time. She wondered why that was.

Quirrell was tugging nervously on his turban again as witnesses burst into laughter at his predicament. The back of his head really seemed to be a sensitive spot, didn't it? Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly. She'd wondered if he was hiding something beneath the turban before, but now it was actually starting to seem probable. Most likely a hard object, either very precious to him or designed to give him some sort of power, or a physical defect?

_'It would be useful to find out, but only if there was a risk-free way of doing so. Play along and stay out of trouble - that was the plan, right?_'

But still, she allowed her fingers to twitch once, just slightly. Quirrell tripped over his robe and fell again, flat on his face this time.

Allowing herself a small smirk amidst the roaring laughter of her fellow students, she slipped away from the scene to the library.

* * *

After checking that the coast was clear, Blaise quietly hurried to the inconspicuous corner of the library where he knew Sal was waiting. They studied together regularly now. Funny enough, Blaise found working with her more relaxing than hanging around Malfoy, even if it meant checking over his shoulder every so often.

As always, she was hard at work. Her table was burdened with several large stacks of books. "Injuries from dark curses?" he glanced at the cover of the topmost volume, "Quirrell didn't assign these as homework, did he?"

"Not exactly, but it does have some relation to the Curse of the Bogeys he was talking about the other day."

Blaise shook his head. He didn't know how someone could be so keen. But then again, he supposed there was a reason Sal was getting better grades than everyone else.

Curious, he peered over her shoulder at the book she was currently glued to, raising an eyebrow at the heading. "The Dangers of Practicing the Dark Arts: Physical Side Effects?"

"Personal interest," Sal shrugged, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be reading a book about the Dark Arts for no apparent reason.

Blaise couldn't help it when his eyebrow shot up even higher. What could she possibly use this for? Sure, it said "Dangers", which was probably the only reason it wasn't gathering dust in the restricted section. But wouldn't it be irrelevant if you weren't planning to the dark arts in the first place?

Blaise glanced at his friend again. No, Sal wouldn't approve of the dark arts. Many of the old Slytherin families wore it like a badge of honour, but the rest of the school treated dark arts and its practitioners like a plague. Especially the Gryffindors.

The first lesson Blaise had learned in Slytherin was, "Don't get yourself into a tricky situation if you can help it." So he wisely dropped the topic of dark arts and started talking about Professor Binn's dreadful history essay instead.

Still, he had to wonder. Sal had surprised him several times already, hadn't she? He'd thought muggleborns weren't supposed to be good at magic or have any respect for wizarding traditions, but she'd proven him wrong. He'd thought Gryffindors were supposed to avoid Slytherins like sworn enemies, but she'd proven him wrong again. All those rules the upper years had taught him, all those social norms he thought they had to follow, how was he to know which ones were right?

Lesson number two he'd learned in Slytherin, Blaise remembered. There's no such thing as cold hard rules, only expectations and guidelines.


	12. Year 1: Chapter 11

The staff room, with its warm mahogany finish and its royal blue upholstery, was one of Minerva McGonagall's favourite retreats.

Most of the other professors seemed to agree, she noticed. Apart from Albus, who was probably busy in his office, all of her colleagues were currently reclined in the plush armchairs around the room, as relaxed as they would ever be. Sinistra was talking cheerily to Pomona about a radio show. Severus was lurking in his usual corner with a thick potion book. Sybil was mumuring to herself, crystal ball in hand. Even Rubeus Hagrid came in today with a teapot and a basket of food.

"So, anything new?" Minerva asked the room while politely declining one of Rubeus's rock cakes, "The students haven't been giving you any trouble, I hope."

"N...Not at all," Quinius squeaked, "no trouble..." There were nods of agreement.

"Of course, I'm still stuck with more or less the same bunch of idiots," Severus complained sourly. Minerva was used to his trademark pessimism. More or less? At least it was an improvement from what he'd said last year.

"Something interesting happened in my class," said Professor Binns.

Minerva McGonagall nearly choked on her tea at this. "Did you say something, Cuthbert?" Perhaps she'd heard wrong. She didn't mean to be disrespectful, but it had been common knowledge, even when she was a student, that the phrases "Professor Binns' class" and "interesting" were never to be used in the same sentence. Even now, she still felt like calling him Professor Binns. In all these years, he hadn't changed a bit.

To her surprise, Professor Binns - Cuthbert - nodded. "I've been having the first year students read their essays in class - because I cannot turn over parchments, as you know. They were assigned to write about medieval witch burnings and common evasion practices - "

That was one of the more interesting lessons, yes, Minerva thought.

"- and then a student made a very interesting analogy. She said that muggles persecuted magic because it was powerful and poorly understood, and that was why they feared it. And then," he paused (a rare practice, Minerva thought,) "she said this was rather like how we persecute the dark arts today."

And Cuthbert paused again, because he'd rarely been subjected to the undivided attention of so many people.

Minerva pursed her lips. She wondered if the student knew what she was implying. Then she wondered if the rest of the class caught it at all. "There was an uproar after that, I'd expect?"

"Fortunately not, or I shan't know what to do... But they did look more alert by the end of the class, I think, which was a good thing."

"Was this a Slytherin student?" Pomona asked. Severus smirked from his corner

"No, a Gryffindor. Her name... no, I can't remember, sorry. I've had too many students to remember all of them."

Strange, Minerva thought. Though when she thought about it, she could see that the student had a point. "Well I suppose she could draw some parallels... We hunt down dark wizards like our lives depend on it, but we really don't know anything about it."

"And then most of the times we toss them into Azkaban, whereas the muggles simply toss people into the fire," Sinistra added thoughtfully, "but at least we give them a trial, most of the time."

True. The comparison grew more apt the longer she looked at it. What was it about the dark arts that made them so bad?

She had no idea. She'd never cared to learn about them. In Defence Against the Dark Arts they might have a chance to see incantations and their effects, but she'd never read about their theories and principles. Did the school have any books like that?

"But dark wizards are evil!" Rubeus exclaimed, "Ye can't compare them to the innocent witches an' wizards who got murdered by the muggles!"

"That's what the muggles said too," Charity, who taught muggle studies, mumbled. It was what Minerva would've confidently said yesterday as well, but now she couldn't help but wonder. What did the dark arts even constitute, exactly? Did they even agree on a definition?

"But... just look at You-know-who! And them Slytherins -"

"Excuse me?" Severus interrupted icily. Hagrid's cheeks reddened, and he quickly apologized to the Slytherin Head of House. Minerva now wondered whether safety was the reason why the Slytherins always banded together. It was common knowledge that many of their families dabbled with dark magic, but they had arranged themselves in a strong enough position so that one could only suspect, but dared not lay accusations unless they openly admitted it.

Throughout the conversation, Quinius fidgeted in his seat. It was rather silly, Minerva realized, that a roomful of professors would be debating over one small comment in a first year student's essay. The girl probably meant nothing by it in the first place.

Pomona checked the clock. "Oh dear, I really ought to be going to my next class,"

And they each left for their respective classrooms. Minerva brisk-walked toward the transfiguration corridor, fully intent on arriving before any of the students accidentally set fire to the furniture like the first year boy (his name was Seamus Finnigan, she believed) had done yesterday. As she re-immersed herself in the hassle of the day, she allowed the matter of the history essay to settle to the back of her head.

Food for thought.

* * *

"It sure is getting cold," Neville wrapped his new red-and-gold scarf tighter around his neck, shivering. "Look, all the flowers wilted. I think that's the last one, too."

Hermione glanced at the single yellowing rose adorning the drying branches. "The Apothecary's Rose," she told him. Hogwarts' roses were of the same variety as the ones that once blossomed in the garden of the Slytherin castle, which was most likely in ruins by now. "An exceptionally hardy flower, but even it can only last so long."

Neville nodded. Hermione could see that he was making a mental note of the information. If there was anything the boy was exceptionally interested in, it was herbology. His essay on medicinal plants had been detailed enough to rival her own.

Even the fact that they were braving the biting wind and making the trek across the muddy field to greenhouse five spoke volumes to Neville's keenness. Ron had decided to skip Herbology today, opting instead for the warmth of the common room. Harry had been debating before Hermione pulled him along. From his expression, he looked as if he regretted not being more decisive.

"I bet we're going to be the only ones to show up today," he grumbled, "Professor Sprouts won't be able to teach a class with only three students."

"That's not true," Hermione told him, "Look, other people went to class as usual." A small group of first year students were heading toward them on their way back to the castle. Neville visibly blanched when he saw their green-and-silver scarves. He'd suffered a number of times at the hands of Malfoy and his cronies, who loved to ridicule him whenever they chanced to meet.

But his fears had been undeserved this time, as Malfoy was not in this group. One of the Slytherin girls, Daphne Greengrass, gave her a very slight smile as they passed. Hermione recognized her from Potions, where she'd sat next to Blaise.

Neville breathed a sigh of relief when they were out of earshot.

"See? Not everyone in Slytherin is a Draco Malfoy," Hermione whispered. They were making progress, she noted.

She'd deliberately made herself and her capabilities highly visible in Potions, knowing that anyone who would truly do well in Slytherin would see past something as petty as blood status if the benefits were great enough. Blaise Zabini was the first, and she could see that a number of the more neutral students were swaying if only due to reciprocity. Once they get used to her, she would be able to reconsolidate some of House Slytherin's teachings that had been distorted beyond recognition over time.

And meanwhile, that "dreaded" witch-burning essay for history that Blaise had been complaining about had turned into another opportunity for her. She wondered she'd made too much waves too early by demonstrating some of her views on the dark arts to the teachers. But this would be another case where she was willing to risk it. What could she say? As someone who'd still like to consider herself a dark lord it was rather difficult to convince her sense of responsibility to sit by and not do _anything_.

The water-bogged earth squished as they stepped through it. "Sally?" Harry asked with some hesitation.

"Yes?"

"What you said yesterday in History, about how we treat the dark arts like muggles treat magic, what exactly did you mean?"

On her left, Neville stiffened. They'd both picked up on her point and spent time considering it, Hermione noted. "I meant exactly what you think, Harry. I've been reading some historical accounts, and I noticed that we use the same words to describe dark arts as muggles had used to describe magic. We call them evil, yet we know nothing about them at all. How do we know our hatred for them is justified?"

"But the dark spells Professor Quirrell talked about were really dangerous," Harry pointed out.

"Dangerous, yes, but so are all powerful things. Any tool can be used to do good or evil, and from what I've read magic and the dark arts just seemed to be heavier machinery."

Harry looked thoughtful. She knew he was trying to reconcile this with the impression he must've gotten from Hagrid and the others, as well as the name of the course, "Defence Against the Dark Arts".

"But they can't really be the same," Neville blurted, "Magic and the dark arts?"

"Why do you say that, Neville?"

Neville shivered. "You-know-who tortured my parents with dark arts."

Ah. It would be much more difficult to change opinions on the Gryffindor front, as it would involve reasoning with very emotionally charged people. "I'm so sorry, Neville..."

She could see that Neville didn't want to discuss the topic, but that wasn't an option. The issue must be resolved some time eventually. "You-know-who committed his crimes with _magic, _Neville," she told him gently, "which he used shamefully. But just as not every Slytherin is like Malfoy, not every dark art user is like you-know-who. Will you be strong and brave, like a true Gryffindor, and see the true culprit?"

An uncomfortable silence settled over them for the rest of their walk. Both boys were so deep in thought that they hadn't thought to question why she was so sure. No one said a word until they stepped through the door of Greenhouse five, appreciating the sheltered space. "I will, Sally," Neville said, quietly but determinedly.

"Thank you, Neville. I knew you would," said Hermione, glad that she had perhaps convinced one person at least. Possibly two.

But she really must put a check on the number of waves she'd make this year. Else, she had a feeling she'd probably get dragged into trouble for some reason or another rather quickly, and the whole "laying low" plan would go to hell in a hand-basket.

Funny enough, that simple plan was turning out to be somewhat more difficult than expected.


	13. Year 1: Chapter 12

Hermione found the Friday Potion classes to be quite relaxing. She felt like she could sit here all day, surrounded by the calming fumes rising from her cauldron of maturing healing draught and undisturbed by professors or students. It was an added bonus that she'd brewed this potion so many times that she could afford to let her mind wander a little.

The rest of the class was having varying success, as usual. Blaise and Daphne's potion seemed to be reasonably successful - safe to drink at least. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Malfoy and Crabbe's, which seemed to be smoking. In the back of the room, Professor Snape could be heard harassing Ron and Harry about how their potion was "only good for washing cauldrons". The two poor Gryffindor boys found this incredibly unfair, and complained angrily the moment they left Snape's territory.

"At least it was liquid!" Ron grumbled between breaths as they climbed the winding stairs.

"And that's saying something," Harry added, "Half the class ended up with pots of goo. Goyle couldn't even pull his ladle out of his cauldron, and Snape didn't say a thing!"

They must've left the slug in for too long, Hermione thought. In theory, though, this shouldn't cause the potion to become any less effective. Perhaps Goyle's product could be used as a poultice? If the consistency was the only mistake, that is.

"Snape is evil, I swear. I hope he expose himself soon so that we can be rid of him once and for all. It would do everyone a favour -" Ron's rant was cut off when he nearly walked into Hagrid and his rather large basket of raw meat. "Oh. Hi Hagrid,"

"Hullo Ron, Harry, Sally," beamed the kind and friendly, if a bit naive, half-giant.

Harry eyed the basket oddly. "Are you going to feed the three-headed dog?"

Hagrid nearly dropped his load in surprise, but he fortunately caught it in time. Hermione was glad he did - it would've made quite a mess. "How did you know about Fluffy?" He asked with a frown.

'_The whole school's going to know about "Fluffy" if you keep carrying that much meat around,' _Hermione repressed a snort. "We... er... accidentally found him when we were running from Filch."

"We saw him standing on a trapdoor. We think he's guarding that thing you took out of Gringotts when you took me shopping," Harry told him, "Do you know what it is? You must have some idea."

"Now you stay away from Fluffy and whatever he's guarding!" Hagrid told them seriously, cradling his basket in one hand and waving the other.

"But Snape's trying to steal it," Harry told him earnestly, "He got bitten by Fluffy when he tried to sneak past him on Halloween!"

"Nonsense," Hagrid shook his head, "Snape's a teacher. He's helping to protect the... thing. Listen here, the package is none o' your business. It's between the headmaster and Nicolas Flamel -"

"Ah!" Ron smiled, "so there's someone named Nicolas Flamel involved, isn't there?"

One look at Hagrid's mortified expression cleared any lingering doubts. Hermione sighed. Just when she thought the boys had stopped thinking about the package...

They had originally intended to go back to the common room, but now the boys were suddenly keen on taking a detour to the library. Harry swore he saw the name somewhere, but they had no idea what Nicolas Flamel was famous for. Hermione absentmindedly leafed through books that seemed promising, making sure to look busy. On the one hand, she wasn't stupid enough to actually help the boys find potentially life-threatening situations to jump into (and then possibly require her to rescue them). On the other hand, she was rather curious about what Nicolas Flamel had entrusted Professor Dumbledore with. The world can benefit from a magical search engine, Hermione decided after they'd looked fruitlessly for three hours. She was sure the knowledge required to create the mechanism already exists - fundamentally, all it needed to do was recognize writing and process the information like the translation charm. The main difference was the output format.

They were eventually chased out of the library by Madame Pince, who'd apparently decided that Harry and Hermione had wandered a little too close to the Restricted Section. They weren't all that bothered, as it was near dinnertime in any case. Besides, search engine or not, Hermione was sure she would come across the name sooner or later. She'd been wasting no time in educating herself on the progress made in the magical world over the millennium, especially in Salazar's fields of expertise. The Book of Potions, by Zygmunt Budge, had been particularly useful and entertaining to read. She was impressed with the author's genius, even if she was slightly less impressed with the arrogance of the self-declared "greatest potion-maker ever born". She'd also learned of the invention of the "love potion", which from what she'd gathered seemed to have caused more trouble than it was worth. She wondered if they'd even bothered to investigate its side effects before it somehow became mainstream.

At dinner, Harry and Ron continued to discuss where they might've seen Nicolas Flamel's name until Fred and George's raucous guffaws drowned out the conversation. Apparently, poor Professor Quirrell had just spluttered out a spider after taking a drink from his pumpkin juice.

"Poor man," Fred shook his head completely unapologetically, "misfortune does seem to follow him everywhere, doesn't it?"

"Bless his soul," George said in a saintly voice, "May he find solace in his eternally cursed life."

Ron examined his own goblet with suspicion. "Do you reckon this is an accident, or do you think one of the house-elves played a prank?"

"I've read that house-elves cannot simply decide to play pranks, Ron. It probably just climbed in there on its own." Hermione recited, conveniently hiding a smirk behind her own goblet. The spider had indeed crawled into Quirrell's cup by itself. With a bit of magical prompting, of course.

"Good," Ron muttered, "I hate spiders." His older brothers burst into laughter again at this. Ron glared. "Shut up! It's your fault in the first place!"

"We know, brother dear," said Fred.

"But since our backsides have already endured the whacking of a dozen frying pans for the deed, we thought we'd make the most out of it."

"Speaking of family," Dean Thomas asked, "are any of you staying at school for Christmas?"

"Are you kidding? I would have Potions every single day if it means not having to see my uncle and my cousin," Harry asserted.

"You must really hate them with a passion then," Hermione raised an eyebrow, "Perhaps you can ask to stay at school over the summers as well?"

"It would be brilliant if I can. But then again," Harry grinned, "I think I might actually enjoy this summer. They don't know I'm not supposed to do magic outside school, so I can always threaten to turn Dudley into a pig. I think he'd been a bit afraid to come near me ever since I accidentally set a boa constrictor on him."

"No way!" Hermione allowed herself to look genuinely surprised. This sounded incredibly like her own favourite trick. Could it be that she was currently speaking to a cousin some hundred-times-removed? She glanced around. Her housemates had been engaged for some time in an exciting conversation about Ron's cousin Charlie and dragons. "How'd you do that?"

"I don't know, really... The boa constrictor at the reptile house was telling me how he really wanted to see Brazil, I guess. So when Dudley pushed me over, the glass just vanished."

Casting a discreet sound-blocking spell around them just in case, Hermione moved closer. "You were talking with him?" She clarified.

"Yeah," Harry was confused, "At first I thought it was weird, but that was before I found out about magic. I guess loads of wizards could do it."

_'Make a mental note to trace the Potter line, and make a mental note to find him books about parseltongue.'_ "No, I've read that it's not a common gift, Harry. You might want to keep this to yourself."

"If you say so, Sally..." Harry started to say, but was tapped on the shoulder by Ron. Hermione quickly removed the sound-blocking charm just before he turned to reply, and went back to sipping her pumpkin juice.

As she'd promised herself, Hermione sprinted upstairs to take out the books from the library at first chance. After ensuring that Harry wouldn't read them in public, and that he would indeed read them, she slipped out of the common room and made for the Room of Requirements. Like last time, the room had arranged itself into a near perfect replica of Salazar's office when she entered. It even had the steady green fire, and the thin glass vase of rose cuttings on the table. Hermione felt herself smile. This room had been Helga's idea. It took them a herculean amount of magic and brainpower to make it work, but it was absolutely worth the effort. She sat down on the familiar chaise.

_'I need to see Harry Potter's family tree.' _Shimmering letters appeared on the wall opposite to her at this thought. It was not a complete family tree, she knew, since the room only had access to the school records and books that had passed through the school. Still, it was a very good place to start.

Technically, she thought, the Room of Requirements was a magical search engine and more. It shouldn't take long to produce a simpler one for mass production.

Back to the matter at hand. She did not find anyone familiar in the mass of names. Of course, that was to be expected.

_'I need to talk to the founders' portraits.' _A large frame appeared, followed by the four portraits she'd requested. Each was wearing a curious expression.

"...never seen this place before. Wonder where it leads to," portrait Godric was muttering, "Oh, hello Sally. Should've known you were behind this."

"Room of Requirements? I rather like the décor," smiled portrait Salazar. "Why are we looking at Mr. Potter's lineage?"

"Harry Potter is a parselmouth."

"Ahh!" portrait Godric beamed, "See Sally, not every living member of your family is an evil git."

"Godric!" Portrait Helga scolded sharply.

Portrait Salazar pointedly ignored him in favour of studying the chart. "I don't see how we could be related, just going by what's listed here. Incidentally, the Potter family had been living for centuries in the village that Godric moved to after his old one got burnt by invaders. It's more likely that he's Godric's family than ours."

"That's the same village that Ignotus Peverell lived in, wasn't it?," Hermione noticed, "Maybe we're in-laws." At age sixteen, Salazar had realized that the danger of being betrothed to Merope was becoming very real. To save himself, he'd introduced her to the rich heir of Cadmus Peverell, one of his former mentors. It had been a perfect match, in Sal's opinion, since both of them had a strong taste for the showiest thing they could get their hands on. In retrospect, though, perhaps this had been a mistake. Too much vanity and too little sense was a dangerous combination.

Her portrait self seemed to be considering the same thing. "Perhaps it would've been better if we'd just married our _fair cousin_," he mused, "we knew that not many other people could handle her."

"Ah, we would've saved both the Slytherin and the Peverell names from falling into the mud, but we would've damned ourselves," Hermione reminded, "and personally, I found sanity a very useful thing to have during Hogwarts' construction."

"Too true."

"Look! The names are flickering," portrait Rowena pointed, "Is someone accessing the records?"

"You noticed?" Hermione was unsurprised that she did. "This happened the last time I was here as well. It looks as if someone's finally making use of the castle's tracking charms."

"Very useful, for troublemakers," portrait Godric grinned. "I'm glad someone finally thought to do this." This particular part of the records had been warded against tampering, but not against access, for the same reason that the curfew existed. Students could use the information as they please if they realize that it exists.

"The charm was cast by four irritating Gryffindors around fifteen years back - one of the was James Potter, incidentally," said portrait Salazar. "They made a map of the school that shows the name and location of everyone in the castle, as well as the entrances to just over half of the secret passages. Currently this parchment is in the possession of Fred and George Weasley. And yes, I've checked that your name reads 'Hermione Granger', even though you know it can't be anything else."

Portrait Godric clapped him on the shoulder hard. "Ha! Paranoid as ever, Sally! How many wards do you cast around yourself anyways?"

"You should know, Godric, since you've _tested_ most of them. Even my fire shield! And you wonder why I'm paranoid?"

"Well you were confident that it would work..." Godric bantered. Rowena and Helga giggled.

"And it did, as I knew it would. But that didn't give you permission to incinerate me! You know I hate fire!"

"So," Hermione gestured at the Potter family tree, "none of us know anything about any of these people? That's that, I suppose..."

_'I need to learn about Nicolas Flamel.'_

A heavy book appeared on the table. Alchemy?

Well. It appeared that this whole Quirrell business was more serious than she'd expected.

* * *

Curtains safely drawn, Harry sat on his bed. The two books Sally had given him were laid out in front of him. The first one was heavy, worn, and appeared to be an encyclopaedia, or a basic textbook. The section "parseltongue" had already been bookmarked, no doubt by his understanding friend. Pointing his wandlight at it, he began to read.

_'Parseltongue is the ability to talk to serpents. It is a very rare trait, passed down through the bloodline. __Wizards who are able to speak in such a language are called parselmouths. Over the centuries, parseltongue has become viewed as a hallmark of evil.'_

Harry blinked at the page, stunned. He most certainly was not!

He could see now why Sally advised him not to let people know. He hadn't wanted to do anything that would make him stand out more than he already did, in any case, but he would be even more careful now.

_'The first known parselmouth was Herpo the Foul, __who purportedly commandeered battalions of snakes to assassinate his victims. For more on Herpo the Foul see page 56. __Nevertheless, parseltongue is more widely associated with the Slytherin family, a line of nobles that once held substantial power and wealth. The family's most notorious member, Salazar Slytherin, had chosen the snake as the emblem of his House at the school he had co-founded. For more on Salazar Slytherin see page 144._

_'The last known parselmouths were the Gaunt family, who descended from the Slytherins. Accounts of their lives have been lost, as the family gradually fell from grace. There are sources that suggest that the feared Dark Lord who plagued Britain until recently had also been a parselmouth. The verity of these sources is dubious.'_

Harry shut the book, rubbing his eyes. It wasn't very comforting to think that he had something in common with any of these people.

He wasn't sorted into Slytherin though, he reminded himself. But then again, the hat did want to put him there... He wondered what Sally thought of him now. She didn't look upset or distant when she gave him the books. They were still friends, right?

His watch read 11:00. Sally had probably gone up to the girls' dormitories already. He would have to wait until the morning to find out.

Sighing, he turned his attention to the second book, _ On the Intellectual Capacity of Serpents. _This one seemed like a more technical book and was significantly smaller. He could tell that this book was much, much older than the first, as it appeared to be hand bound. Yet surprisingly, it was in better condition. Perhaps because no one cared to read it?

He turned over the leather cover, skimming the brief foreword. It didn't feel as fragile as he'd expected. Maybe it was preserved by magic.

_'Wild snakes, like lions and dragons, exhibit a primitive instinct-driven thought process. Nevertheless, they are perhaps differentiated from most animals in that their intellect can accommodate dramatic development, if given the opportunity. Rather like young children learning from adults, serpents learn quickly from contact with more intelligent beings, namely wizards and witches. Chapter one, two and three detail the general learning curve of a typical serpent, as well as the limit to its intellectual capacity. Chapter four and five describes notable exceptions. Chapter six and seven focus on the basilisk, a being aptly named the King of Serpents both for its power and intellect. _

_'My colleagues have advised me that the compilation of this book may not be worth the trouble. Parseltongue is, as far as we can tell, not an ability possessed by the masses. Nevertheless, I write in hopes that this knowledge can assist readers in making informed and considered decisions. It is my belief that even Herpo of Greece may hesitate to initiate the Thousand Vipers Massacre, if he had been able to appreciate its full horror. I also have faith that this book will one day find its way into the hands of one who may have use for it. If the world has seen fit to coin the term "Parselmouth", then I cannot be the only one._

_'A translation charm as well as a preservation charm have been cast over these pages. I have created twenty-five copies of this book in total. This copy will reside at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If you are a student, then I wish you the best of luck on your endeavours. The world looks forward to your contributions and your brilliance. _

_'Salazar Slytherin.'_

Harry dropped the book out of reflex. He was reading Slytherin's book? But he supposed he shouldn't be surprised, since the author had already stated that he was a parselmouth. And as a founder and professor, naturally Slytherin would've written many books for the school's library.

Nevertheless, if not for the signature, Harry would've never guessed it. This was not how he'd expected Slytherin to sound like. It was too... nice.

But what had he been expecting? Gruesome plans for world conquest? Snarky, Snape-ish critiques of the reader's worthiness? Or snobby, Malfoy-ish remarks of how noble his blood was?

Not every Slytherin was like Malfoy, Harry reminded himself. This was probably true for the original Slytherin as well.

Redirecting his wandlight at the book, he turned the pages curiously. Slytherin was a good writer, he found. Pieces of information were mixed with colourful anecdotes, and even occasionally humour. By the time he finished the last chapter, it was long past midnight.

Harry leaned back on his pillow. He didn't feel like sleeping yet. Instead, he picked up the first book again and turned it to page 144.

_'Salazar Slytherin was one of the four founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was considered one of the most powerful wizards of his time, and a significant figure in the whole of magical history. Slytherin had been close friends with Godric Gryffindor, a reknowned knight and duellist as well as a founder of Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Slytherin eventually left the school he'd founded to study the dark arts, which presumably lead to his downfall and death.'_

That was more or less what he'd heard elsewhere, Harry thought. This time, though, a small voice piped up in the back of his head. Did studying the dark arts necessarily make someone bad?

_'Throughout his adult life, Slytherin had been very politically active. It is believed that he played a major role in the establishment of the Statute of Secrecy, after which the wizard society officially hid itself from the muggles. Slytherin's attitude toward muggles had been strongly negative, and had authored numerous literatures about his views. It was said that Slytherin frequently argued with the other founders over Hogwarts' muggleborn policies. This may have been a source of friction between them, and may have contributed to his decision to leave Hogwarts.'_

The word "literatures" had been underlined by someone. Harry was pretty sure they were not allowed to do that, but when a book had passed through so many hands it couldn't be expected to stay pristine. There were writing squibbled between the lines too. It was rather small, but still readable. Harry brought the book close to his face and squinted at it.

It said, _'The Muggle-Magic Relationship: Current Status and How to Proceed. Aisle 450.'_

A book title? He would take a look in aisle 450. He was going to go to the library tomorrow in any case, to look for Nicolas Flamel.

Extinguishing the Lumos spell, Harry tucked the books safely under his pillow and drifted off to sleep.


	14. Year 1: Chapter 13

**A.N.: I removed the section about Harry's homelife in the previous chapter because it was out of place and I didn't really know how to handle it.**

* * *

"Morning, Harry," Hermione waved from the Gryffindor table.

"Morning Sally," Harry sat down beside her, a little bit stiffly. He looked a little nervous, Hermione noticed. It didn't take legilimency to see that he'd read the books.

Hermione smiled warmly, causing Harry to relax a little. "Pumpkin juice? Spiders not included, of course."

Several students near them sniggered, remembering what happened at yesterday's dinner. The situation with Quirrell really was a pain. Hermione had not studied alchemy extensively in her previous life, but she knew a thing or two. If the object guarded by the three-headed dog was what she believed it was, a philosopher's stone, then it was very likely that Voldemort was attempting to use its healing properties to restore himself to full power. This meant that Quirrell would go to much greater length to obtain it. It also meant that the consequences of allowing him to succeed would be much more undesirable.

It still wasn't a reason to reveal her power before she was ready. Nevertheless, Hermione really hoped that Professor Dumbledore knew what he was doing. From what her portrait self had told her, he should've been sensible enough to place some real protection around the stone, in addition to the phony ones meant to be broken.

But for additional security, she would continue to keep an eye on Dumbledore.

She'd also have to keep Harry and Ron away from Quirrell and the stone. Should they succeed in removing it from its hiding place, then the stone would be momentarily protected by nothing but two eleven-year-olds. Up to now, she'd tried not to give the potion master trouble, knowing that he had a lot on his plate already, but she would direct their attention to Snape if she needed to. Besides, considering the way he'd been acting toward his students, he couldn't complain that he didn't deserve their hostility.

She had been planning to go home for Yule, which had been combined with Christmas some centuries ago, but now she realized that it might be a better idea to stay at school. She'd written to her parents last night, saying that she needed to catch up on her schoolwork over the Christmas break. They would understand. They did take her education very seriously.

From what she'd heard, Hogwarts would become mostly empty in two weeks. Harry and the Weasley brothers were the only ones who would be staying for the feast. Blaise was going to attend the annual Yule dinner at Malfoy Manor, along with a large part of Slytherin House. Hermione could appreciate its importance, knowing that the true purpose of such parties was for the host family to affirm allegiance and perhaps exert their influence on their network if necessary. Young Salazar had attended numerous of these gatherings throughout the year, ever since father could trust him not to say the wrong things. It was helpful to act humble and respectful, Salazar had found, especially when his family was host. Power and family status would speak for itself. Meanwhile, humility calmed people's egos and had allowed him to extract certain favours that would've otherwise not been possible, such as a promise of mentorship from the Peverell brothers.

"...Oh it'll be the grandest thing you've ever seen, Nott. The banquet table will be four times longer than the one at your house last summer. Everyone will be talking about it for the whole of January. And Avery, wear a different dress gown this time. Surely your family can afford more than just that one?" At the moment, Draco Malfoy was boasting about his father's party, and loudly so that his voice carried to the tables of the other houses. Hermione didn't missed the slight dip of Gaius Avery's head, or the way Theodore Nott stabbed at his toast a little more harshly than necessary. Malfoy would learn, in time, or it would cost him.

* * *

On the other side of the hall, Blaise flinched slightly at Malfoy's words, but thankfully recovered before anyone spotted it.

Theodore had his full sympathy. True, the Malfoys were indisputably the most influential and wealthiest family today, but the Notts were an ancient and politically significant family as well. They had their pride. Malfoy's assertion that his family's parties would be much better than Theodore's could be considered a direct insult to strength of the Nott family's network.

And he was sure that most first year students, excepting the Slytherins of course, didn't even have a dress gown. The Averys were simply being sensible.

But Malfoy's arrogance was detriment to no one but himself. Blaise, like a good Slytherin, saw an opportunity. Thus, after breakfast, he'd made sure to corner Daphne and Theodore before they could make their way to Pansy Parkinson and the library, respectively. "So, you know how you've been pestering me about the supposed secrets to my potion grades?"

Lesson number three in Slytherin: Rules are only guidelines, but if you intend to continue doing something truly shocking, make sure to implicate as many people as possible before you inevitably get caught. They would likely become your primary supporters.

"Yeah Blaise, what is it?" Daphne asked, "I mean, we hand in the same potion, but your final mark is a level higher than mine."

"What books have you been reading that I haven't found yet?" asked Theodore curiously.

"Not a book, Theodore, I have a tutor, sort of. But she's almost like a walking encyclopaedia... rather like you, actually."

Sal had told him that she'd love to make some new friends. After considering which of his housemates were "safe", so to say, Blaise settled on two.

Daphne, because Blaise knew her well from Potions. Blaise also knew that she was still close with Parvati Patil in Gryffindor, Padma Patil in Ravenclaw, and Hannah Abbott in Hufflepuff.

Theodore, because he buried himself in books as much as Sal did. They would get along swimmingly. Besides, at least Blaise could now be reasonably sure that he wouldn't tell Malfoy about this.

Moreover, introducing them to Sal would also bring Daphne and Theodore closer to himself, strengthening his own group of allies. Again, the Notts and the Greengrass were not Malfoys, but neither were they to be taken lightly. Blaise got a sense of satisfaction from this thought. Malfoy and Parkinson had their connections handed to them by their parents, but Blaise would win his allies by his own strength and intelligence.

_'If this all works out, that is.'_

"A tutor! Who is she?"

"Remember the girl in the first row from Potions? I call her Sal, but you might know her better as Granger."

Daphne's eyes went wide. "You're _friends_?"

"Zabini, you were there in the common room," frowned Theodore, "when Malfoy was complaining loudly about - excuse my language - 'the mudblood Granger', right?"

Hmm, this didn't sound good.

"I was," Blaise replied, "and so were you, but you still found her quite intelligent, no? Weren't you following her in the library, trying to see which books she was learning from?" Sal had noticed this the other day, and had asked him whether the boy in the row of bookshelves adjacent to theirs was Theodore Nott. He was.

Theodore looked thoughtful. "Personally I don't really see the point of the whole muggleborn business, not when Granger acts more refined than some of the purebloods," He admitted. Here he cast fleeting glances at Ron Weasley, then Malfoy. "If she's got brains, then she's worth talking to I suppose."

Watching his housemate closely, Blaise realized that Theodore had came to this conclusion long ago. So that remark about Malfoy... was it to gauge his own likelihood of having a change of heart?

"Ooh, Parvati did say that Sally Granger is really meant for Ravenclaw," Daphne remarked, "She must be one of the best students in our year. The other being you, Theodore, of course."

Blaise had to agree. Ravenclaw did sound like a much more suitable place for someone who loved books as much as she did. And whatever Sal was, he was sure that she was not a Gryffindor.

"I'm guessing you didn't bring this up without a reason, Blaise," Theodore noted, "are we going to get an introduction?"

"Yes,"

Theodore glanced at Malfoy again. The blond was strutting down the corridor as if he owned the place, with Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind him. He picked up his book bag.

"Tell me when, won't you?"

"Of course, Theodore."

After both Theodore and Daphne had left, Blaise breathed a sigh of relief and strolled out of the Great Hall. This could've easily blew up in his face disastrously, like poorly cooked potion, but he'd succeeded. And it was actually worth something, too. Not some childish victory like leg-locking weaker students, or causing Gryffindor to lose a couple of points.

The seal of Hogwarts was embossed in the wall outside, surrounded by words in Latin. Blaise looked up at the coiled snake in the upper right quadrant.

_'You'd be proud of me, wouldn't you?'_

* * *

**A.N.: There's still quite a bit of cleverness in Salazar's house after all :D**

**The Slytherins sometimes address each other by last name to honour their family lineage. Malfoy is always getting called by his family name because he's so proud of it. **


	15. Year 1: Chapter 14

Hermione sat comfortably at the usual table deep within the library, where no one cared to go. Blaise, she noticed, was shifting in his seat slightly, though he was already relatively good at concealing his nervousness.

She'd been subtly making Blaise aware of a number of potential allies for the past few months in their conversations. Theodore Nott was rather like young Salazar, up to a point. He socialized with the children of his father's allies, as required of someone of his lineage, but only perfunctorily. He perceived most of his peers to be shallow and didn't fancy their company, instead opting to spend his time among books. Thus, Hermione knew that he craved an intellectual equal, more than he cared about blood status.

Malfoy's petty behaviour at breakfast, coupled with the slight to his family's social standing, pushed him over the edge. Blaise had caught on to this, partially at least, and decided to approach him before Theodore could change his mind. The approval of a Nott would also reassure Daphne Greengrass enough to risk her position in Pansy Parkinson's circle. It was quite clever of him.

_'Well played, young snake,' _Hermione continued to turn the pages of her book, eyes betraying none of these thoughts.

Eventually, two figures slipped through the row of books and stopped at their table. "Daphne, Theodore, this is Sally Granger. Sal, Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott."

Hermione stood, as per customs, to shake their hands. "A pleasure to meet you, Daphne, Theodore," she said with a small, controlled smile. They looked surprised, no doubt reminded of the greetings exchanged at their parents' gatherings. This would make sure they took her seriously.

"I've always wanted to meet Parvati's mysterious friend," she continued as they each took a seat, "and the only other first-year who'd brewed a perfect healing draught."

"Your potion deserves more congratulation, though," Theodore remarked, "I must say I was surprised, Sal. They say that traditionally, potion-making is a Slytherin art."

"I can see why. It needs you to be observant and precise, but most importantly, able to think quickly and adjust for errors. This is your house's strength, I believe."

"Not many people put it like that," Daphne noted.

Theodore agreed. "This is the first time I've heard someone praise the ability to correct course... Not that we get many compliments at all."

"I always thought it's a part of being clever," Hermione simply smiled, "but of course, you as a Slytherin would probably know better than I."

They didn't say too much, opting instead to set to work on their potion essays. This was the risk-free option. It seemed that both Daphne and Theodore liked to assess people and situations as much as possible before gradually involving themselves. Most likely, they would avoid talking about anything other than actual schoolwork, until they could get time to reflect. This suited Hermione fine. In keeping with her current reputation, she kept the discussions at first year level, while occasionally bringing up an idea that should be just above Theodore's understanding.

Theodore, as she'd expected, was very knowledgeable for a first-year. This was not only due to his habit of reading, but also to his talent for thinking creatively and applying what he read in books to different situations. His primary interests were potions and transfiguration. He didn't particularly gravitate to the more potent end of the magical spectrum, and had a stronger preference for things that would be handy. Like Sal herself, Theodore was reserved and kept his opinions behind a thin veil. However, they were different in that Theodore preferred to work alone whenever possible, whereas Sal would be more likely to leverage the strength of others.

Daphne was remarkably sensible and tactful - the reason she was able to remain close friends with both Pansy and Pavarti even after the two became openly hostile to each other. She always phrased her opinions in a way that could offend no one and, Hermione imagined, would leave her with room to maneuver should it become necessary. She also regularly wove little compliments into her dialogue, so seamlessly each time that Hermione wondered if she was aware of what she was doing. Daphne likely wouldn't have a group of followers bowing down to her, but the size of her network could easily surpass Malfoy's or Pansy's. She would never lack resources, for certain.

Their study session ended at lunchtime, with the pleasantly exchanged agreement to meet again the Saturday after they return to school. After they went their separate ways, Hermione took a quick detour through aisle 450. The book whose title she'd written into _An Overview of Magic_ was gone. Noting this, Hermione strolled leisurely to the Great Hall, where she sat between Harry and Neville at the Gryffindor table. A discreet glance at the other side of the hall showed that Daphne was attentively listening to Pansy Parkinson, who seemed to be sharing a juicy piece of gossip. Theodore was engaging in polite conversation, as was Blaise, but mostly focused on his plate. Nothing about their demeanour spoke of anything out of the ordinary. The Slytherin table was business as usual.

In contrast, the Gryffindors were noticeably quieter. Harry didn't talk at all, and responded much more slowly when someone called him. It wasn't hard to tell what was on his mind. Nicholas Flamel, as well as a certain book authored by a certain infamous founder. She would give him a bit of time with that. However, the primary cause for the uncharacteristically demure atmosphere was the lack of input from the Weasley twins. Rather than cracking jokes every five minutes, Fred and George looked rather pensive. Lee Jordan wasn't talking as much as he usually did either. Ron and Percy were openly surprised by the change, and the latter was clearly pleased. They wondered whether their boisterous brothers were finally out of jokes and, upon being proven wrong, whether they'd finally learned to behave. Having caught them sneaking glances at her when they thought she wasn't looking, and from the way they kept staring across the hall, Hermione had a basic idea of what they might be thinking. She hadn't forgotten about their handy map, after all.

After lunch, Hermione slipped away from the stream of students to her underground chamber. Esmeralda hissed in greeting, and Hermione gently stroked her head. She was pleased by the morning's events. There was as much potential in House Slytherin as ever, and most of its students knew what was right. With a little bit of navigation adjustment, it was well on its way to become what it was meant to be in the first place. Meanwhile, she was making steady progress on healing the rift between Hogwarts' houses, and new opportunities were presenting themselves.

As long as she could keep her influences subtle until it was time, the prospects of resurrecting her name and legacy was looking good.

_Excellent_.

She just had to be patient and make it through the next few years without getting her cover blown.

* * *

Peeves was a poltergeist, but he wasn't immune to fear. Therefore, when the Baron descended upon him near curfew time and ordered him to set the bronze statue back where it belonged, Peeves obeyed without a word. Pity. The fun he could've had, dropping it on an ickle firstie's head...

The Baron was a scary man, he was. He was worse than Sally, really. Peeves had hoped that His Eminence Lord Slitheriness would forget to pass on his knowledge of ghosts when he left, but alas, fate was not kind to Peeves. Poor Peevesy had to spend a whole day hiding from smirking snakes while dodging volleys of Sally's choicest curses. The Baron was the most persistent of them all. He wouldn't let Peeves get away with anything. Peeves found this very unfair. It wasn't Peevesy's fault that of all the cute ickle firsties, the Baron had to be the one to get hit by the dungbombs...

Peeves was still afraid of the Baron, even now that he was a groaning, clanking ghost, which was why he glumly set the statue down even as an adorable ickle firstie turned the corner. But Peeves supposed he should be thankful after all. Firsties were fun, most of the time. But with this particular firstie... Well, Peeves was just glad that the statue was bronze and not iron.

Being locked inside an armour for three weeks was not fun, not fun at all. Peevesy couldn't move, couldn't make noises, couldn't hurl water balloons at professors... Peevesy had to admit that it was genius, even though it was so, so cruel. And when Peeves finally freed himself from his iron prison, he came to one terrible conclusion.

Peeves didn't know how, nor did he care, but His Eminence Lord Slitheriness was back. Or was it now _Her_ Eminence?

"Hello, Sal-ly!" Peeves bowed dramatically. Peeves loved this nickname. When Peeves first arrived, Sally had cursed him every time he said that. Peeves found this very unfair. It wasn't Peevesy's fault that Godric's nickname was so funny. Eventually, Sally didn't bother to punish him anymore, but he still complained.

And now, Sally couldn't even complain about it! Ha!

Peeves was sometimes tempted to say Sally's full name, but then little Sally might get hurt, and then she might get angry enough to do something _really_ dreadful to Peeves. Sally was smart, and Peeves wasn't an idiot. They still had an agreement.

The Baron whirled around, surprised. Peeves knew that the Baron would remember the millennium-old greeting, but Sally wouldn't mind too much if only the Baron found out, would she? The Baron wouldn't betray her. Sally was safe. Peeves was safe.

But still, perhaps it would be safer if he removed himself from the scene quickly. Don't stand beside explosives longer than you need to, that's what Peeves always said.

Cackling madly, Peeves disappeared with a crack.

* * *

**A.N.: Thank you for all the great reviews! **

**Most likely Hermione won't really be romantically involved with anyone, but I might consider it in the very distant future if one of the characters develop into a good match for her. (This certainly won't be Ron.) **


	16. Year 1: Chapter 15

"Professor Slytherin?"

_'Well, there goes the first person who found out, and now the second...' _But fortunately she'd known this particular ghost quite well in life, which also indicated that she could still trust in Peeves' dubious loyalty.

Hermione looked the pearly white ghost in the eyes. "Hello, Baron Edmund. How have you been?"

"Not well," the Baron laughed drily, "but I complain more than I should. What happened to you, Professor?"

"Reincarnated in an experiment," He didn't move as Hermione's gaze slid over the chains around his neck, the silver blood splattered down his front and the knife wound in his chest. "What happened to you, Edmund? How did you die?"

"Professor Gryffindor and Professor Hufflepuff didn't write to you?"

"No... I must've gone before you did, Edmund."

"It's almost curfew, Professor. Perhaps you should go back."

"Ah, and when did you ever give a damn about curfews, Edmund?"

They both smirked.

"I'll look for you in the Astronomy Tower at midnight. I've been told you spend most of your time there."

"Certainly, Professor." He glided away. Hermione left the other way, up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. Upon entering the common room, she was greeted by the sight of her housemates huddled around the fireplace. More precisely, one table beside the fireplace.

"Sally!" Neville called, "Come and see! Harry's found Slytherin's supposedly anti-muggleborn book, and it looks like the history books' got it all wrong!"

"Really?" Hermione was impressed. She hadn't expected the tiny note she made in the encyclopaedia to be so effective. Most people were, after all, not very interested in debating history. Hermione glanced over Ron's head at the opened book. It was opened to last chapter, titled _Final Notes_. She read the page, even though she already knew what it said.

_'Please remember that as individuals, muggles are inherently not very different from you or I. Their brains are perfectly capable of complex thoughts, should they take the trouble to learn. However, regrettably, their society does not allow for this, and thus they are restrained to listening to passages of a single book once a week at church. Perhaps this may change in the far future, but it certainly will not happen in our grandchildren's lifetime. It is safer, and better for both parties, to shield ourselves from their tantrums._

_'Muggleborn witches and wizards ought to be welcomed into our society with open arms. It would be a shame, as well as a great loss for us, if they are forced to hide away their gifts and will themselves back into ignorance. My colleague Rowena Ravenclaw and I propose a system to identify every young witch and wizard by magical signature, rather than heritage. The details are still in the works, and will be implemented at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry once completed...'_

"Hey, Slytherin actually sounds like a decent human being here," Ron squinted at the book as if trying to decipher a secret code.

"To start a school, Ron, you kind of have to be," Hermione reminded with both amusement and annoyance.

"They say Slytherin didn't want to teach muggleborns, but that can't be right if he helped ensure that muggleborns are accepted into Hogwarts, can it?" Harry questioned, "I wonder how many historians actually read his original text."

"But he does say he doesn't like muggles," Dean Thomas noted. "Mind, if what Professor Binns said about witch-burning was true, then he's got a reason to."

"He did practice the dark arts, though," Pavarti reminded. A number of students nodded. "But at least he wasn't as bad as we thought he was."

It was good that they still remembered her essay about witch-burnings, though not consciously. It created a good platform for her to build from, and she would be able to make use of it soon enough now that they have the muggleborn-hating nonsense cleared up.

For now, she just needed to do one more thing. "I wonder what Malfoy would say if he reads this. Maybe he would be nicer..."

Fred and George suddenly snapped their fingers. "We should show Slytherin's book to the Slytherins!"

Hermione watched as they withdrew to a corner and started drawing out their plans. She couldn't wait to see what they come up with. Smiling indiscernibly, she climbed up to her dormitory and waited for midnight.

* * *

Though it was neither hidden, or forbidden, the Astronomy Tower was deserted as usual. Pale moonlight beamed in through the open arches that served as windows, onto the cold grey stone tiles. Hermione sat down in one of the small wooden chairs before removing her disillusionment charm.

"I've had to pass Peeves again on my way up," she told the hovering Baron. "He seems to be immensely afraid of you."

Edmund laughed. "He should be. I can't begin to describe my happiness when you taught us how to curse a poltergeist."

"Well we can't let him have his way, can we?" Hermione smiled, "But Edmund, tell me what happened to you. That wound looks ghastly."

He nodded sadly. The chains on his chest rattled. "A broken heart does that to you. You know how I've always loved Helena…"

Hermione listened with a heavy heart as he described how Helena had stolen her mother's diadem and ran away, and how Rowena had asked him to find her daughter when she fell ill in her later years. He'd eventually succeeded - it had never been possible to hide something from Edmund forever - but when she refused to return with him…

"… I lost control of my rage, Professor Slytherin, as you've always cautioned me against. I killed her. And then… I couldn't live with the terrible deed hanging over my soul."

Hermione sighed softly. "You did this to yourself, Edmund,"

"I know."

"But you have my fullest sympathy...You never told the portraits?"

"We didn't want to grieve them."

"Perhaps it's for the better. Those were painted when everyone was as happy and content as we could ever be… Godric and Helga never told me that Rowena lost her daughter."

"She didn't tell them either, Salazar. She kept it to herself until her death," the Baron revealed, chuckling at the slight widening of her eyes. "Don't be so surprised, Professor. You weren't always forthcoming yourself."

Hermione had to admit the truth in this.

Edmund's voice took on a lighter tone. "So, Professor Slytherin, you're a student now. And you've gotten yourself sorted into Professor Gryffindor's house."

"The last place anyone would expect me to go, including the Sorting Hat," Hermione smiled.

Edmund wrinkled his nose. "I don't like what's happening with our house. Ever since the thirteenth century it's been falling."

"It's fortunate that I'm back, then."

"Are you going to restore it to its former grandeur, Salazar?"

"Of course, Edmund." Did he even need to ask? "It would be an injustice to the students, and the magical society as a whole, if it's left to deteriorate. Also, I owe it to myself."

Edmund nodded gravely. "I thought you would say that."

Hermione arched her eyebrow. What was the Baron driving at? She waited for him to continue, but he simply stared out the window at the shimmering surface of the lake.

"You've given me many valuable advices, Professor Slytherin," he said at length, "But I have a feeling you might benefit from one of them now. A new life is an opportunity. Don't make the same mistakes. Let the past go if you need to."

Hermione's eyebrow rose further. This she hadn't been expecting.

"Could you elaborate on which mistakes you're referring to, Edmund?"

Baron Edmund was now counting the stone tiles on the floor, rather like he used to do when facing an imminent detention. "I have a confession to make, Professor. In my fourth year, a group of my friends and I chanced to see the door of the staff room slightly ajar after dinner one day. We peeked inside, partly because we've never seen it before, and partly because we thought we smelled firewhisky. It turned out that you, Professor Gryffindor, Professor Hufflepuff and Professor Ravenclaw were celebrating the twentieth anniversary of the school."

"Ah! The one time I made the error of allowing Godric to talk me into drinking far more than I should," Hermione remembered. The argument Godric had used was that if Salazar was the only one to retain a functioning head by the end of the night, he would remember enough to tease the other three founders to no end. Or something along those lines. After Rowena had assured him that nothing could possibly happen that would require his immediate attention, and because he was already starting to have thoughts of leaving, Salazar gave in. Needless to say, it didn't end well. "How have I embarrassed myself, Edmund?"

The Baron scratched his head. "You didn't, actually. We were hoping you would, but you just sat there as if you were completely unaffected. Godric made quite a show, singing and dancing on the table and all. Even Professor Ravenclaw had firewhisky running down her chin. We sniggered about it for months."

Hermione chuckled. That would've been quite a sight.

"At around midnight, Godric was sprawled out on the table and snoring. Rowena and Helga seemed to have fallen asleep in their chairs. You slipped out of the room. My friends snuck away at this point as well, debating how you could still walk gracefully after… how many drinks was it?"

"I really have no idea, Edmund," Hermione admitted honestly. She - that is, Salazar - hadn't remembered anything when he woke up, and in the oddest circumstances too. "You tell me."

"I might've lost count," Edmund laughed. "It wasn't until I saw you heading for the wrong set of stairs that I realized you might be intoxicated after all. Thinking myself very clever, I followed you, hoping to score some details that might be - ah - persuasive should we have another negotiation about the length of my detention. I saw you climb further and further up the Astronomy Tower. I kept my distance, just in case you did decide to look back, but you never did. Eventually I reached the top landing - that is, here. I remembered creeping in quietly, curious as to what mischief you could've gotten into up here..."

A cold gust of wind swept through the tower. Hermione cast a warming charm.

"You were kneeling in the middle of the room, Salazar. I thought you were shivering from the cold. It took me a minute to realize that you were sobbing.

"And I was so surprised...I didn't think you could cry."

Had she trusted Edmund any less, and had he looked any less sincere, she wouldn't have believed him.

Hermione blinked, taking this in. She hadn't cried once after age five, if her memory served, in this life and the last. Tears were a safe form of outlet for victims of the circumstance, left at the mercy of fate and unable to change their situation. And Salazar had always been able to evade such a plight...right?

"And I didn't see why you should," Edmund continued, "You were as successful as anyone could ever be. You wanted to stop the witchhunts in your village peacefully, so you did. You wanted to eliminate violence between magic and muggles, so you established the Statute of Secrecy. You wanted to cultivate knowledge and progress, so you built Hogwarts. And even as you spent your time teaching, you still managed to maintain your duties as Lord Slytherin. Your village continued to flourish, and the muggles didn't even know you no longer lived there for most of the year! At the same time, you published volumes after volumes of insight on potions and souls and being. More and more practitioners of Dark Arts of our time were beginning to look to you as leader... Everything you set your sight on, and those were no mere trifles, you accomplished sooner or later. I couldn't fathom why at the height of your victory, when you should be celebrating, you were weeping in an empty tower instead."

Hermione shifted her left hand, idly feeling the smooth emerald of her ring. The Baron didn't say a word, though he did watch her carefully. "You could've blackmailed me with this, Edmund. I'm sure I would've paid handsomely."

He laughed again, but shook his head. "I couldn't do that to you, Professor. Besides, all I cared about at the moment was getting out of the tower while I could. Everything was starting to shake. There was a real danger that you might blow up the room and take me with it."

"So that's how I found myself in the midst of a smouldering mess the next morning," Hermione muttered. "Goodness, I almost thought we were under attack."

"I left at the right time, then," Edmund gulped slightly, before gliding over to one of the arches. "I still have no idea what the cause of your sorrow was, Salazar. Only you could know. I just hoped to remind you not to do the same thing again." The moonlight glistened over his pale form. "I do understand now why you would make for the highest tower, though. There's a certain melancholy to it. It's as high as one can reach, yet it's so very lonely up here…"

For a while, the tower was silent save for the soft whistle of the wind.

The talk with Edmund had a sort of effect on her that she could only call interesting. Though thoroughly embarrassed now, for a moment she'd felt... relieved? Understood? Had it really been so exasperating pretending to be a kid that being called "Lord Slytherin" again did such wonders on her ego? Weird.

Not that she had any intentions of changing her plans. Patience was a virtue, after all.

"Thank you for the insight, Edmund,"

"Best of luck, Salazar."


	17. Year 1: Chapter 16

The beginning of the holidays was marked by the line of students filing out of the school, and Hermione watched from the snow-covered window sills as they waited to board the thestral-drawn carriages. Before the Hogwarts Express, these carriages used to travel all over the country to pick up students - young children didn't seem to enjoy apparition, after all. Salazar had suggested the use of thestrals partly because he knew them to be gentle creatures, and partly because he hoped to see that over time, more and more students would see autonomous carriages rather than giant winged horses. He also wanted to continue studying the property of their tail hair as he'd done during his time with Antioch Peverell. His mentor had sought to release the full power of the thestral tail hair, binding it to the violent elder wood to create the most formidable wand ever known. Salazar had also used thestral tail hair as his wand core but, as he believed that great power must be matched with equivalent control, tempered it with the calmer and more loyal acacia.

Antioch had laughed at his use of "a lesser wood" then. Salazar had replied by saying that the apprentice could never surpass the master, and this had made Master Peverell noticeably less reserved about teaching him, but he wouldn't have traded his wand for anything else. This wand eventually went on to serve him better than he could possibly hope, throughout the construction and establishment of Hogwarts and onwards.

Life was remarkably peaceful in the days leading up to Christmas. As Harry and Ron toasted various pieces of food over the common room fire while charting ridiculous plans to get Draco Malfoy expelled, Hermione wondered if she could've gone home after all. The boys didn't seem inclined to ruin their holidays by worrying about Flamel, and Quirrell didn't do anything other than his regular nightly departure from the castle, most likely to report to Voldemort. He hadn't been using any of the secret passages to Hogsmead, but among the other entrances he seemed to have no preference. She considered placing a tracing charm on him, but without knowing where his general destination was, she would have to anchor it on his person. Those type of spells might be discovered. Granted, suspicion would fall to Dumbledore first - that is, if the headmaster hadn't already attempted something similar.

Hermione didn't take the chance, as she would be unlikely to benefit from knowledge of Voldemort's location in any case. She did keep a closer watch on Quirrell when he was within the castle, however. She'd dedicated an hour to producing a map similar to Fred and George's, and had spelt it to heat up whenever someone enters the chamber with the three-headed dog or if Quirrell went somewhere he shouldn't. So far, no one had made a move, and Dumbledore and Snape appeared to be on alert. The stone was still safe.

On Christmas morning, Hermione woke to the sight of a small pile of presents and a grinning house-elf. Thanking him, she smiled and began to unwrap her parcels. The first was a large science textbook and a loving letter from her parents. Hermione grinned. Dad knew exactly what she'd wanted.

The next package was from Neville, and contained a handsome eagle-feather quill and a inkwell. She found it very thoughtful of him, as she could never have enough of these. She hoped Neville would enjoy the herbology book she'd bought him. She'd read through it first, and it should be just at second-year level.

The next parcel was from Blaise. It also contained a book - _Greatest and Noblest Families Throughout the Times_. _'Dear Sal, enjoy Yule at school. I don't know many people who stay, but since it's Hogwarts, I'm sure it'll be grand... I hope you find my present helpful. I remember you were looking for something like it, and this author is about the most accurate and objective one I know.'_ Hermione agreed. This book should be very useful, and perhaps even more than Blaise realized. She made a mental note to continue tracing the Potter line, sometime during the day.

Her own present to Blaise was an elegant, ornate cloak pin. Not a typical gift for a child, but she anticipated that he would find use for it some day. '_For when you make your name, Blaise.'_

The last two packages contained sweets - chocolate frogs and chocolate cauldrons from Ron and Harry. She'd never tried them before, as they were recent inventions, but she'd heard they were very good. Biting into one of the chocolate frogs, Hermione discovered a little picture of Godric, albeit a rather poor quality one. It couldn't think or speak, and had a limited range of motion. Not at all like the portraits at Hogwarts, but amusing all the same.

_'Thanks, Ron, Harry,'_ Hermione chuckled, stowing away her presents. She'd bought them snacks as well. It looked like she'd made the right choice.

Christmas feast was as magnificent as she remembered. The boys, each wearing a "Weasley sweater", had great fun pulling the great abundance of crackers and digging through the roast turkeys. At the High Table, most of the professors were enjoying themselves as well. Hagrid called for more wine, getting redder and redder in the face, and eventually kissed Professor McGonagall on the cheek. Harry and Ron looked amazed to see the usually stern witch blush and giggle, she noticed. But then again, given what Baron Edmund said about Rowena, it shouldn't be too surprising.

Professor Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard hat for a flowered bonnet, and was laughing merrily at Professor Sprout's joke. Not many would've noticed that he was resolutely filling his goblet with pumpkin juice, as was Professor Snape (though _he_ looked gloomy as usual). Quirrell reached for the wine, but then seemed to decide against it. Curious...

In the afternoon, while the boys went outside to sling wet snow at each other, Hermione ducked back to the Room of Requirement with her new book to look for the origin of Harry's parseltongue ability. "I'm becoming more convinced that Harry didn't get this from his parents," she told Portrait Salazar, "Not one of the Potters were parselmouths, otherwise it would certainly be noted, and it's highly unlikely that it just popped out of nowhere."

He steepled his fingers. "An acquired ability? But how? Parselmouths, like metamorphmagus, are generally born and not learned, and for young Harry it seemed to come naturally."

Hermione nodded, idly examining one of the roses in the vase. This caused her portrait self to laugh. "Is that how I look when I do that?"

"Is there a problem I should be aware of?"

"Not really," he waved dismissively, "Though I can see now why Godric... No, never mind. It doesn't make him any less ridiculous. How is Yule this year, by the way?"

"Excellent, though there are so few students that I wonder if the elves would be able to finish all those turkeys. It seems that Quirrell - or Voldemort - realized that drinking is a bad idea during his current, er, quest."

"That would be sensible, yes."

"Quirrell very nearly forgot," Hermione smirked, "though it's rather strange how his hand shot back as if the bottle stung him. It almost feels like Voldemort's been watching over his shoulder, making sure he did everything right..."

Grey and amber eyes widened as a thought occurred to both of them. "A spying mechanism inside Quirrell's turban?"

"Likely, though it would need to see as well as hear, right? Or better yet, know what Quirrell is thinking."

"Essentially the equivalent of carrying Voldemort on the back of his head, then?"

"For our purposes, yes," Hermione mused. "Well then... will we be able to use this at all?"

* * *

Albus Dumbledore peered over his goblet of pumpkin juice at the small group of children, gathered at one end of Gryffindor table. Several of the younger ones, Harry included, looked quite amazed at the bonnet he was currently sporting. The older ones seemed to have gotten used to the idea that he was "mad, but brilliant", as Percy Weasley had apparently put it.

In his younger days, a few perceptive people had been able to see through his whimsical act, but now they simply accepted it as a part of his identity. Even Minerva. And Severus... Albus suspected that Severus at least saw the act as an act, though even the shewd potion master didn't guess at what he'd hidden underneath.

But Albus really must refrain from thinking about _that_. It would accomplish nothing, and it would give him nothing but grief.

Young Harry was glancing at him again. Albus returned the boy with a smile while mentally sighing. He didn't like the idea of a young child going through so much hardship, especially potentially life-threatening challenges, but fate had marked the boy out for a dangerous destiny. The Dark Lord had already marked Harry as an equal. It was unavoidable.

Could he not seek out Voldemort first? It wouldn't take too long, and he could definitely keep Harry safe until then. But what next? He had a hunch that Tom Riddle would not die at his hands, just as he hadn't really died on Halloween in Godric's Hollow. The best Albus could do for Harry was to provide support, spread the risk and smoothen the steadily escalating path to the final challenge. He must ensure that when the time comes, the boy would be equipped with all the skills, knowledge and emotional preparation he needed.

Thus, he'd allowed Quirrell to teach at Hogwarts despite knowing that he'd travelled to Albania, suspiciously close to Voldemort's last known hideout. It was better for Harry to face a relatively weak servant first, than to be unprepared for the master. In addition, himself and Severus would always be on hand to step in before Harry becomes permanently maimed.

So far, the boy was doing nicely. He had a strong need to protect and a healthy amount of curiosity. Intelligent, too, having already connected the Gringotts package to the third floor corridor to his friend Nicolas. It was also very fortunate that Harry made some very good friends - As Albus had learned the hard way, who your friends are could greatly influence the kind of person you become. Ron Weasley was a bit rash, a bit insensitive, and more likely to listen to his heart than his brain. Nevertheless, the boy had a very strong sense of moral, and that was unfortunately more than Albus could say for some. Hermione Granger, or Sally Granger as the children knew her, was a good student, impressively well-read, who'd on multiple occasions held the boys back from trouble. Between the three of them, there would be no shortage of sense.

Albus had returned Ignotus Peverell's cloak to its rightful owner this morning. Harry seemed to have thought a bit about it already. It was nearly certain that the boy would want to try it on, tonight.

Perhaps it was time to set up the mirror.

* * *

**A.N.: Albus is a decent person. He does what he think is best, but he places too much emphasis on the prophesy. Thus, he thinks the only way forward is for Harry to defeat the dark lord, which is why he's always trying to introduce Harry to the lesser dangers while he still had time.**

**On the other hand, Hermione believes that the whole confrontation between Harry and Voldemort is avoidable, which is why she will continue to try to stall him.**


	18. Year 1: Chapter 17

"Harry, I don't think you should go back to that mirror tonight... It might be dangerous."

"You sound like Sally! Oh, that reminds me... Don't tell her, alright?"

This was the conversation Hermione walked in on when she arrived at the Gryffindor table. They both clamped their mouths shut the moment they saw her.

"Tell me what?"

"Nothing," Harry said quickly. Ron looked as if he wanted to say something, but decided to keep Harry's secret.

"O-kay," Hermione turned away dubiously and started on her breakfast. _Now_ there was no way she was staying out of _that_. The last time she'd heard the words "Don't tell Sally" and turned a blind eye, a good portion of the castle's roof had been destroyed by three rampaging griffins that their namesake had so proudly lured into school grounds. Besides, if even Ron felt the need for caution, then surely it cannot be taken lightly. She would keep an eye on them today. Better spend the night in the common room as well.

In her musing, Hermione was vaguely aware of two red-headed twins approaching the table with exceptionally wide grins on their face. She had to admit, even after teaching the House of the Cunning for twenty-two years and seeing nearly all kinds of smirks imaginable, theirs were a little unnerving. What were these two up to now?

* * *

Fred and George Weasley didn't know what to make of the little first-year girl named Sally Granger.

Their first impression of her was that she was a Goody-two-shoes just like Percy the Prefect, who would grow up to be a boring officious killjoy just like Percy the Prefect. After all, who else would spend a good half of the Welcoming Feast listening to Percy drone on about rules, instead of devoting their full attention to more deserving things, such as the food or the Ghosts or even the floating chandeliers?

They had been so surprised when, as they were huddled in the dark in preparation for their first prank of the year, they realized that little Miss Granger was not in her dormitory as she was supposed to be. They hadn't gone to see what she was doing on the second floor at midnight - they had a prank to pull off after all - but they did see little Sally in a different light from then on.

It was clever of her to act all nice and obedient, they'd decided. She could probably even stroll down the hall with an armful of dungbombs, and the teachers would simply praise her for disposing of them.

And then one day, when they glanced at the Map, they'd seen her name beside "Blaise Zabini", "Theodore Nott", and "Daphne Greengrass". They'd thought the Slytherins might be bullying her at first but, when the names stayed that way for the whole morning, realized that they might actually be getting along.

Sally Granger was hardly the first Gryffindor to talk to Slytherins. Pavarti Patil and Daphne Greengrass hang out regularly, after all. But they'd known each other from before, while Sally was a muggleborn. How she'd managed to make friends with a bunch of blood-purists was beyond Fred and George's comprehension.

Or perhaps they had it wrong all along?

'Salazar Slytherin never hated muggleborns.' Wasn't that the whole moral of the little spectacle they needed her help with?

They grinned. Taking identical strides, they marched over to the Gryffindor table. Nudging their little brother aside, they each took a seat. The person they'd sandwiched between them, one Sally Granger, looked up from her toast, eyebrows raised in question.

"So," they both scooted over, forcing Sally to shuffle down the table away from prying ears with them.

"Sally," said Fred,

"Miss Granger," said George,

"We have a proposition for you."

They'd never recruited a first year in their pranks before, but this particular plan called for a face that people should be relatively unfamiliar with. And little Sally was the best girl for the job because she knew the castle almost as well as they did, because she could probably perform the spell they'd need her to do, and because they could always threaten to tell Percy that they'd seen her sneaking out at night if she tattled. It also didn't hurt that she knew a thing or two about their target, and would be smart enough to contribute a few ideas.

"You see, it concerns a small -"_ 'Ha! Small!'_ "- Christmas surprise we've been planning for the Slytherins…"

* * *

Hermione wouldn't dare say this to Godric, but she could somewhat appreciate the ambience of the Gryffindor common room.

The Slytherin common room, with its steady green fire and tall underwater windows, had been designed to calm and inspire. It was a place for students to cool their heads, gather their thoughts and make their plans. Its high, arched stone ceiling was grand and unrestricting. Its furnishing was of the same style as the Slytherin castle, as well as Salazar's office and chamber: elegant, but simple and functional. It was well-lit, reasonably open and offered as much comfort as could be afforded. Yet, when Godric and Helga had came down to see it at its completion, they'd complained that it was too cold.

Now, looking about her, Hermione could see that they had a point. The Gryffindor common room was cluttered, amorphous, and featured an excessive amount of red fabric. Not to mention that its leaping golden fire was a little too much for her. Nevertheless, it had a cozy warmth that felt so welcoming, like an embrace. Most people could stay here forever and never wish to leave.

Currently, they were all holed up in the Gryffindor common room, enjoying the last days of the holidays. Harry turned down Ron's multiple requests for a game of chess, until Ron eventually gave up and asked Hermione to play instead. Harry hadn't spoken much since breakfast, she thought as she checkmated Ron's king for the second time, much to the red head's dismay. It was almost as if he was just waiting for curfew. What kind of mirror would have such a strong attraction?

"How are you so good at this?" Ron asked, amazed.

"You're very good at chess yourself," Hermione assured him. He really was. "But I doubt that many people would be able to win against the friend I used to practice with." Perhaps surprisingly for some, Rowena was not very good at chess and didn't care much for games in general. But Helga - she was the true master. She always patiently scanned the board before making a move, uncovering all traps and leaving very little exploitable weaknesses. Even Salazar counted more losses against her than victories.

After playing five more games, and making sure that she lost at least two, Hermione picked up a book while the boys went off to bed. Harry left as well, though she knew he was going to return. Disillusioning herself, she waited. Her thoughts turned back to what the Weasley twins' had disclosed to her in the morning. She could see how they earned their reputation. This "welcome back to school prank", as they called it, had what seemed to be their usual style: loud, dramatic, with no small amount of flamboyance. With just the tiniest bit of modification, it would be perfect.

Impatient footsteps drifted down from the stairs to the boys dormitories, but no one appeared. Yet something _had_ passed in front of her, did it not? Hermione waited until the entity was safely out of the portrait hole before taking out her map and removing the disillusionment. Harry Potter was now outside.

As she followed Harry through the halls, Hermione wondered how he'd achieved complete, perfect invisibility. Or perhaps the darkness was diminishing her eyesight? The disillusionment charm is fifth-year level, she recalled. It wasn't difficult to learn - the difficulty lay in casting without any wavering, or outlines. Even she and Master Ignotus couldn't always accomplish such a level of perfection.

But Ignotus had been working to make the charm permanent, hadn't he? He'd been testing it on a specially-made cloak. Perhaps Harry had acquired something like it?

Despite Harry's invisibility, the boy was surprisingly easy to follow even without the aid of her map. His footsteps were uncontrolled and hurried, and frankly much louder than they should be. Hermione struggled to keep up with quick but silent strides, until they came to a stop in front of a large, ancient-looking mirror. She watched as Harry whisked off his invisibility cloak and sank to the floor in front of it, gazing into it dreamily. She also noticed a very slight flickering in the corner. _'Well. This is interesting indeed,'_

There was an inscription around the mirror's frame. '_I show not your face but your heart's desire.' _A mirror that showed whatever you wanted most desperately... No wonder Harry looks so spellbound. Curious, she was almost tempted to take a peek herself, but then she decided that it would be harder to mourn what she'd never seen.

But that begged the question of why such an artifact had been made so easily accessible.

As she'd expected, Professor Dumbledore revealed himself in the corner, to Harry's surprise. He patiently explained how the mirror worked, warned Harry not to look for it again, and informed him that the mirror would be moved to a new home tonight.

This would be the real protection for the Philosopher's Stone, Hermione realized. One would think it's sitting behind all those layers of traps, but really the bait didn't have to be on the hook all the time to be effective. The use of the mirror here would be quite clever, since it could prevent people from taking the stone for any reason except to protect it. This knowledge brought her a small amount of relief. '_Very good, Headmaster. Now you'll just have to watch and make sure everything does go as expected, won't you?'_

Harry was turning to leave, but curiosity seemed to make him pause. "Sir, what do you see when you look into the mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolly socks."

A typical, Dumbledore-style lie. From what she knew of their current headmaster, this would be one of the secrets he'd take to the grave. To be safe, Hermione stayed in place and waited until Professor Dumbledore left the room before turning toward the door herself.

It was good to see that Dumbledore had the sense to make it difficult for Quirrel to access the stone even if Harry doesn't manage to retrieve it first "as hoped". One more thing taken care of by the Headmaster meant one less reason for her to get involved. It was too bad that there was one thing he didn't seem to account for as fully as she would've liked, and that was Voldemort and therefore Quirrel's lack of aversion toward murder.

Hermione sighed silently. Her original plan had been a simple "gain my bearings and stay out of trouble", but that was slowly but surely turning into "steering misguided students in the right direction while making sure nobody dies, all without drawing attention to myself". Getting more complicated by the second, it seemed. And somehow she'd even signed up to help two mischief makers pull off a prank in a week - although that was for a good cause, she swore. Ah well.

Pride and self preservation demanded that she try harder, but Hermione was starting to wonder if she should just accept her apparent inability to stay uninvolved and pettily console herself by making the responsible party recuperate her losses threefolds instead.


	19. Year 1: Chapter 18

"Mortal dread."

Fred exchanged a look with George. They, and little Sally, were currently hiding in the passage that lead from the dungeon to the entrance hall. The portrait that guarded this entrance was a witty fellow with silver eyes and a decent sense of humour, at least as much as one could hope for in a potion master. They could trust him not to give them away when an enraged Filch come by, demanding to know which direction they ran off in.

In fact, they used to prepare for nearly all their pranks here. That is, until one day the portrait nonchalantly "remembered" that since this was the Potion Master's Passageway, naturally it would be used quite frequently by Professor Snape.

"Remember what you need to do?" Fred asked, handing Sally a green and silver tie. He and George couldn't help but feel a little bit concerned for her. It was the first time they'd involved a firstie, after all. Much less sending a muggleborn firstie into Slytherin territories. However, Slytherins were notoriously suspicious of Gryffindors strolling in the lower dungeon levels. Hence, the need for an unfamiliar face and a disguise.

"Perfectly," Sally replied, taking off her own red and gold tie and pocketing it. She then tied her hair back and smoothed it as much as she could. "How do I look?"

Scanning her over, Fred doubted that anyone would see her as an infiltrator. Although, it was unlikely that she would encounter anyone, since all the students would be having dinner in the Great Hall at the time.

Now, standing with her chin lifted jauntily and a slight smirk over her lips, Sally certainly looked the part. And with her hair sleeked back into a subtle sort of wave, she very much reminded him of Malfoy. "You still look too nice, but otherwise excellent. I don't suppose we can make you look pug-faced like Pansy Parkinson, can we? A few well-placed stinging hexes would do it."

"Not unless you want to play Crabbe and Goyle. A few dozen stinging hexes each should do it. We'll have to burn your hair too, but at least the height won't be a problem."

Yup, the attitude was there too. No need to worry about her.

George checked his watch. Five minutes till dinner. "C'mon, let's go. Good luck, Sally,"

Fred could hardly contain his grin as he walked up the stairs to the Great Hall. He could tell this was going to be brilliant. Once there, he and George sat down next to Lee and started on their dinner like everyone else. They pretended to be perfectly oblivious to the underside of the benches, where a hundred or so of _something_ that they'd charmed over the past few days were waiting to activate upon the command -

They traded a look. Together, they discreetly waved their wand under the table. "Locomotor!"

Suddenly, the room was filled with multi-coloured, animated toy snakes. Quickly growing to around a meter in length, they hissed and slithered around ankles, startling all four houses alike. Fred and George we're very happy to see Marcus Flint fall backward out of his seat in surprise, before a neon pink snake so kindly nudged him back into place. Malfoy seemed to have spilt his pumpkin juice on his crotch. Ron shrieked like a girl when a black snake coiled itself rather realistically around his leg. "Salazar..." he cursed.

"'Salazar' is right, dear brother," George nodded at the door, where a large banner had unfurled itself. '_In memory of the Snake Lord,' _it said. Fred grinned. He was quite proud of his handiwork.

Ron glared at them. "Please," he grumbled, "Slytherin doesn't need you two helping him. He's done enough damage already just by leaving us stuck with his bloody house."

Beside Ron, Harry was equally surprised, though he was also smirking. "Sorry," he'd laughed when the other first years looked at him weirdly, "this reminded me of that time at the zoo with my cousin." Fred wished he'd shared the whole account of the incident, as it seemed to be very funny, but Harry had stopped talking in favour of eating more chicken.

Up at the staff table, the professors were glancing around them with disapproval. Nevertheless, as Sally had correctly predicted, Snape's hilariously outraged expression made them strangely reluctant to help. Even Professor McGonagall simply sat back and watched her greasy-haired colleague fire spells left and right in an attempt to get rid of the rainbow-hued disasters. He wasn't having much luck. The snakes were very fast.

Fred grinned. This little - Ha! Little! - dinner entertainment served several purpose. Firstly, it was hilarious, and brilliant even as a stand-alone prank. Secondly, it ensured that Snape would be kept busy in the Great Hall for some time. This meant that he would be unable to discover and remove the little - Ha! Little! - _thing_ that should now be in place in front of the Slytherin common room until much, much later. "Well, that turned out very nicely, didn't it dear brother?"

"If it's good enough to lure a potion master out of his lair, then it'll be good enough to keep a potion master out of his lair," pointed George, who was busy directing a neon green snake to dance in a loop. Fred looked across the hall in the direction he indicated. In the paintings, among the figures huddled to watch the spectacle, was their favourite potion master. They knew he would sometime leave his painting, though they'd never actually seen him elsewhere in the castle. Sir Cadogan seemed to be attempting to use this opportunity to provoke him into a duel. Fred doubted that he would agree to it. He didn't look like the brawny or violent type. Could paintings even duel?

In the commotion, Fred noticed Sally silently slide into the seat beside his. "Where did you go?" Harry asked.

Sally shrugged, wearing her typical innocent expression. "I went back to the common room to drop off my books. Er...What's going on here?" Under the table, Fred felt something being placed into his hand. The green and silver tie.

He hoped the Slytherins would enjoy their present.

* * *

The entity on the back of Quirinus Quirrell's head watched through Quirrell's eyes as the crude idea of a joke unfolded before them. How dared they use the name of his ancestor for something as frivolous as this! When he obtains his own body, which would be soon enough, he would find out who was responsible and decimate them.

His plans were going well enough. The unicorn blood he'd made Quirrell drink every night was keeping him sufficiently strong. And once he could determine what exactly Dumbledore had in place to protect the stone (for surely those childish games and the beast couldn't be all) and keep Dumbledore busy at the right time... Oh, he'd love to see the horror on their faces when he reveals himself, as powerful as ever. They'd thought him dead for ten years, hadn't they?

"Look forward to hell."

Had someone said something? He made Quirrell glance around the hall, inspecting the oblivious faces. No, it didn't look like it. The room was simply too loud, and too noisy. Or perhaps it was he who'd accidentally stated his thoughts out loud?

He sneered coldly from within the purple fabric. Soon enough, he would not have to put up with this nonsense. Soon enough.

* * *

The Slytherin common room was concealed behind a stone wall at the end of a corridor in the depth of the dungeons. To enter, one would say the password - usually a word or phrase that changed logically every night - and the door would reveal itself. Alternatively, according to some unreliable tales, one could use the Parseltongue password that never changed.

But it seemed that no one would be entering the Slytherin common room now, or for the next few hours, for that matter. Because the entirety of the entrance was simply and effectively blocked by a giant book.

"Who's responsible for this?" Blaise heard a seventh-year growl. Someone cast a "Reducio!" at it, to no avail. The book refused to shrink.

Personally, Blaise had no doubt that this was the work of the Weasleys, as was the fiasco in the Great Hall earlier. '_In memory of the Snake Lord'_, was it? Blaise sighed. He should've suspected that they weren't finished. And he had been so looking forward to going to bed early...

"Incendo!" A tongue of fire shot out dramatically from the tip of someone's wand. The third year girl who cast it looked smug at her clever idea, though her smirk faded when anticlimactically, the book remained unharmed.

The next hour passed quickly, during which the upper years tried unsuccessfully to cut, burn, shrink, transfigure or vanish the book using all the spells they knew. Several students were sent up to get Professor Snape, though each time they returned alone because "at least the book isn't trying to run away like the abominations in the Great Hall". The younger students like Blaise, who didn't know enough magic to be helpful in the endeavour to gain entry to their own sleeping quarters, were gradually nudged to the back of the group. Blaise tried to stand on tip-toes to see what they were trying, but there were too many heads in front of him. All he could see was the top half of the book. _'Please remember that as individuals, muggles are inherently not very different from you or I. Their brains are perfectly capable of complex thoughts, should they take the trouble to learn...' _

Trust the Weasleys to put something about muggles in front of the Slytherin common room. The author's opinion was an interesting one, though. He advocated against the mistreatment of muggles, though the way he said was very different from the over-enthusiastic muggle worshipping of the Weasleys. His tone was diplomatic, with a slight but noticeably cool and cynical character. It wasn't exactly clear which side he was on.

Blaise noticed that most of his housemates were starting to pay attention to the contents of the giant obstacle as well, if only out of sheer boredom. He found himself wondering what the rest of the book was like. Perhaps he would read it sometimes. If it could survive until the end of the evening, of course.

"Whoever did this," noted Theodore from his right, "must've done some pretty impressive spellwork. You'd need powerful shields to withstand their assault for so long. A good portion of those spells they're shooting at it are not exactly legal, I might add."

"True, those last three were dark. I expect I can trust you not to tell anyone, since you're a Slytherin and a Nott," admitted a fourth-year, Jennifer Meadows. She, like most others, had given up and decided to wait for Snape. "It's weird that even those aren't working, though. Can nothing damage this book?"

"Looks like it," a fellow fourth-year said, turning the giant pages. Unsurprisingly, it didn't rip. "I don't think a student cast these protective charms though... If anyone here had that sort of power we would've heard about it. I think it's the author's work. Maybe he wasn't very popular? He _did _argue that we should welcome mudbloods into our society."

By now, everyone had sat down along the sides of the corridor in resignation, giving Blaise an unobscured view of the giant yellowed pages, of something that made him yelp in surprise. Theodore noticed it too, though his reaction was less dramatic.

"What?" Jennifer frowned.

"I think it's the other way around," Blaise laughed weakly and pointed at the seal impression and signature on the last page. Muttering broke out all around, because there was no mistaking who those belonged to. Was this what "In memory of the Snake Lord" was referring to?

"Salazar Slytherin," Theodore murmured, "Funny. Who would've thought that he, of all people..."

"This has to be a trick!" Marcus Flint shouted, outraged. He sent another jet of flame at the book, which lazily absorbed it. Jennifer grabbed his arm before he could raise his wand again. "Don't even think of using Fiendfyre. You can't control it, and you'll get all of us killed."

"I wasn't going to," Flint sneered, "I'm not going to die for a damn book."

"Well, that _is _the Slytherin family crest," Theodore pointed out, "see how the one at school is a simplified version of it. I can't speak to the signature, but I'm sure that'll be easy enough to verify."

"It must be a forgery!"

"Have you any idea how difficult magical forgery is? Especially something like this?"

"Then - then someone must've altered the words somehow..."

"I think Slytherin would've thought of that," Blaise reminded him, "he'd remembered to fire-proof the book. Why not protect it against vandals as well?"

"I can't believe this," Marcus muttered.

Grabbing the corner of the giant pages, Blaise arduously opened the book to the first page. _'The Muggle-Magic Relationship: Current Status and How to Proceed'. _"But we've only read a couple paragraphs... Let's take a look at what point he's actually trying to make, shall we?"

The rest of the book sounded more like what one would expect from Slytherin, according to the history books. He didn't approve of torturing muggles as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had done, though, instead arguing that it would be better for both societies if wizards left the muggles alone and had nothing to do with them. Nevertheless, he clearly disliked muggles, and frequently made insults to the their ignorance and the stupidity of their actions in his ever-so-refined manner. This made things much easier to swallow.

But Blaise couldn't help but noticing that the reasons he gave for his "ill opinion of muggles" were all based on circumstances in the Middle Ages, when muggles were illiterate and uneducated, and witchburnings were rampant. He wondered what Slytherin would say if he saw muggles today. Would he still find them inferior? Or might he even praise them for their ability to cope so well without magic?

Eventually, a tired-looking Professor Snape came down and helped them remove the book. It was simple, really. A basic sticking charm had been applied to the back of the book and the wall. When they tried to shrink the book, the wall stretched the book to maintain its size, while the book's original protective charms maintained its integrity. All they had to do was unstick the book, and then easily shrink it to normal size. Any second-year could've done it.

"Finally!" Malfoy complained before heading up to the boys' dormitory, "My father will hear about this..." But no one was paying him any attention, and Blaise privately thought he should be thankful for it because the wet patch on his crotch had yet to dry.

The book was by far the most interesting thing that happened this evening - probably even enough to replace the Malfoys' Winter Ball as the gossip of the month! Should Blaise tell Sal about it? His first impulse was "yes", but on second thought, it might be tactless. Besides, whatever happens in Slytherin stays among Slytherins. People had broken this rule in the past, and the whole house had suffered for it. Some almost thought of it as their own Statue of Secrecy.

The potion master looked thoughtful when they told him about what was written in this book, and who it was written by. Blaise thought he looked almost mournful, but perhaps he'd imagined it. Snape was always wearing a sour expression.

Blaise quietly headed for the boys' dormitory as well, intending to get there before his housemates inevitably swarm the stairwell. Yes, a good night's sleep would be very welcomed.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the Room of Requirements, Hermione leaned back into the green velvet of the chaise lounge. On the map spread over her knees, she watched the large cluster of names in front of the Slytherin common room slowly dissipate. The Weasley twins were probably doing the same thing this instant, she imagined. "About Quirrell, did he...?"

"He understood," her portrait self confirmed. "Or rather, Voldemort did."

"Which means he is most likely who we think he is," Fred and George had charmed all the toy snakes to hiss loudly. However, unbeknownst to the pranksters themselves, one of the snakes had been "modified" to deliver a particular message in Parseltongue. She'd wondered if it would reach its intended audience. "Look forward to hell... Well, I did promise Esmeralda."

_'Tom Marvolo Riddle... So this is what you've become. You've done quite a bit of damage, haven't you? Not to mention that your abuse of power's disgraced the Slytherin name, butchered whatever's left of the reputation of dark wizards, and nearly exposed us to the muggles. You're talented, but power seized this way never lasts. It's a pity that you couldn't see it.'_

But this "prank" also confirmed that Voldemort was influencing Quirrel quite directly. Would Quirrel have access to some of his knowledge, or even some of his skills as well?

This was dangerous - for the students, but at the same time for her as well. She simultaneously felt more and less eager to go and forcibly evict him now.

She would have to cross that bridge when she get to it, she supposed.


	20. Year 1: Chapter 19

Ron heaved a loud sigh as he plopped down in one of the soft armchairs in the Gryffindor common room. "So, holiday's over. Time to face Snape again... And homework..."

"Well you _are _here to learn," Hermione told him.

Ron mumbled something incomprehensible at that, but was interrupted when Harry fell into the chair beside him with an equally glum expression. "Whoa...What happened to you, mate?"

"I've discovered that Snape's refereeing the next Quidditch match."

Hermione knew that Snape's decision was most likely for Harry's safety than his own enjoyment, but the two had managed to look so sorrowful that she almost felt sorry for them. "Want a chocolate frog? I've still got some left," she offered. They were delicious, as she'd been told, though perhaps a little too sweet.

"Yes please," Harry and Ron, as well as all the first years in their vicinity, chorused. It was a good thing that she'd only eaten two, because by the time everyone took a frog, her box was nearly empty.

"I love these," Harry unwrapped his. They'd finished his box the day after Yule. "Oh look, I've got Merlin again." Hermione peered at it. She doubted Merlin would wear his beard at such an impractical length, as he was said to have frequently travelled by horseback. Granted, she'd never met him either. He had been recently deceased when Salazar was still an infant.

"I've got... Herpo the Foul? He's a new one," said Ron, showing them his card.

"And I've got," Hermione said, opening her own, "Salazar Slytherin, apparently." She said "apparently", because the caricature was so ridiculous that it was almost hilarious. What an awful depiction of yours truly! True, Salazar was tall and thin and had somewhat sharp features. True, Salazar liked to steeple his fingers and occasionally wore contemplative expressions. They'd gotten that much right... But really, did they have to make him look more terrifying than Herpo?

Harry was about to say something when they were interrupted by the sight of Neville bunny-hopping into the room. "Malfoy... jinxed me... said he needed practice..."

Hermione quickly removed the spell, and helped him into the chair she had previously occupied. "Did you use 'protego'?" Knowing how often the boy got targeted by bullies, she'd been teaching him the shield charm to set his mind at ease. It took a bit more power than one would usually expect from a first year, but Neville had been practicing very hard.

"I was too slow," Neville panted, though his expression brightened, "I managed to cast the spell though! I think Malfoy walked into it when he tried to follow me. Gave him a bit of surprise, that."

"Good work," Hermione smiled, offering him the last chocolate frog, "I'm sure he would be getting a face-full of his own spell if he tries it again."

"Thanks, Sally," nodded Neville gratefully. Taking a bite out of his frog, he placed the card on the table with the other three. "Here, you can keep the card. You're collecting, right?"

Harry picked it up. "Albus Dumbledore... He's the first one I've ever got -"

He suddenly stopped. Hermione watched his gobsmacked expression with growing apprehension. _'Oh surely, this wasn't where he'd found -'_

"Nicolas Flamel! I think I found him! It says here that he's famous for alchemy!"

_'Damn it.' _He'd seen Flamel in a piece of sweet, of all places. And it wasn't all that unexpected, when she thought about it... But there was nothing to be done about it now, Hermione thought as she chased after them all the way to the library, leaving behind a very surprised Neville. Indeed, it only took them four hours to realize that the Cerberus was guarding a philosopher's stone. Four short hours, and their Gryffindor instinct for seeking trouble was back on full throttle.

"A stone that gives you as much gold as you want! Anyone would want it!" Hermione exclaimed, deliberately drawing their attention away from its other properties. If they don't connect the stone to Voldemort, there may still be a chance of dissuading them from trying to rescue it.

"Of course!" Ron agreed, "Snape would be rich! Then he wouldn't have to teach!"

"I've got to go. Don't do anything dumb and get into trouble!" Hermione slipped away as the boys began to discuss what they would do with a philosopher's stone if they had one. She would've watched them for longer, but she'd already promised to meet someone else. She just hoped her request wasn't too much to ask from two Gryffindor boys.

Ah, who was she kidding? How could she expect them to stay out of trouble when she was hardly managing it herself?

Stars, this was starting to look _dire_...

* * *

"Professor Snape's been in an exceptionally bad mood all week, hasn't he?" Daphne remarked.

The mood of the current Head of Slytherin House was notoriously difficult to read, Blaise thought, but the exceptionally large pile of homework on the table before them left preciously little doubts. Honestly, did the man realize that he would have to read these things? Did he even plan to read them? Or did he simply decide that he wanted more tinder for his fireplace?

"I think he's still recovering from that prank two days ago," muttered Theodore.

"Ah, I apologize on behalf of the perpetrators," Sal chuckled, "I think I know who they are."

"No kidding," Daphne looked at the rolls of half-finished, not-yet foot-long essays and sighed. "Everyone knows it's the Weasleys. I sincerely hope that next time they pull something like this, they consider the consequences first. This is not fun..."

The corner of Sal's lips twitched with amusement. Something told Blaise this wasn't the first time she'd heard the comment. "They don't do this every year, do they? I wonder why they suddenly decided that the Great Hall needed a hundred more snakes."

The three Slytherins exchanged subtle glances at this, deciding not to mention that the prank had a "part two". Nevertheless, Blaise was glad to see that his friends got along well enough to joke about this. Just last month, the incident would've been considered sensitive.

Sal kept laughing, though softly so as not to disturb the quiet of the library. "Well, we've gotten so far already. Surely the rest of it can't take too long," she said comfortingly. "How was Malfoy's party, by the way? I've heard him boast that it'll be the gossip of the month. I wonder if it, er, lived up to the expectations?"

"Well, it certainly was grand," Theodore allowed.

That was no overstatement, Blaise thought, even if Malfoy had exaggerated tremendously in his bragging. The Malfoys didn't things by halves. Upon arriving at the gates, Blaise had been greeted by two pure white peacocks, strutting along the hedge. Where Lucius Malfoy had got them from, Blaise had no idea. Then he'd unfastened his cloak (since he didn't want to wear Sal's present just yet) and gave it to one of the five house-elves, who bowed and showed him to the children's lounge while his parents went off to join the main party. Clearly the Malfoys wanted to keep the kids out of the way, so that they could entertain the people who could actually do something for them.

Blaise could only guess at how extravagant the main feast was, but the fact that even the children's area was richly decorated and had a full banquet table of delicacies such as lobster tails gave him a good idea. And throughout all this, musicians were performing outside in the gardens, under a weather-proof charm to repel the snow.

"They'd hired a whole orchestra to perform" Daphne told Sal, "Though, I'm a bit disappointed. Draco promised Theo that his father would be personally playing a Nocturne."

"And he didn't?" Sal asked.

Theodore snorted. "I only asked him that to call his bluff... I doubt Draco even knew what a Nocturne is. I'm pretty sure his father could play though. I would be impressed if he did."

Blaise nearly raised an eyebrow at this, though he pushed it down at the last second. Was Malfoy Sr.'s aptitude for music important in some way? He wished Sal would ask, because he wasn't very sure either.

Sal's eyes flickered briefly over their faces. "Excuse my ignorance, but what exactly is the significance of the Nocturne? From what I've read, a Nocturne in the magical world is music performed directly by magic, yes?"

Music... directly from magic?

"Exactly," Daphne nodded, "My mom says you're supposed to draw your magic through the air to make it sing. It sounds really beautiful, a bit like a flute, but you have to be really precise or the notes won't come out right. "

Blaise tried not to look too surprised. He didn't know magic could do that.

"You also need to carefully control the amount of magic you let out, as well as how fast you do it," Theo added, "That's why wizards traditionally play the Nocturne to show off their strength, and how well they wielded their magic. There's a direct correlation between the quality of your Nocturne and your aptitude for wordless or wandless casting, the reliability of your spellwork, and even your duelling ability. Not to mention that you also need some inspiration to play tastefully."

Well... That explained why it was such a big deal. Blaise tried to imagine what magic must've sounded like. It was still a foreign concept to him. Though, it would be nice to learn this art form if possible. It would likely be helpful.

An unsolicited name suddenly popped into his head: Knockturn Alley. He shrugged and dismissed it.

"But people don't play anymore?" Sal wondered.

"Unfortunately," Theodore nodded. "Probably because most people can't play very well. It's easier to have instruments like violins and pianos, which you could hire someone to play for you whenever you want. Only the older families remember it now. But I've read that up until the 13th century, every respectable wizard practiced the Nocturne to some degrees. I wish my father would teach me. He never seems to have the time."

Time...

"Oh, no!" Daphne exclaimed, "We've forgotten about the essays!"

* * *

After grabbing Gregory Goyle's hand just in time to prevent him from blowing up his cauldron and the class, Severus Snape sank back down into his chair tiredly. The idiot boy... How he wished that Goyle had been sorted into another house, so that he wouldn't have to deal with complaints about the hulking bully from students and teachers alike! But instead, he just _had_ to be Slytherin and friends with Draco Malfoy.

Severus rubbed his temples. He hadn't had a full night of sleep ever since they'd found Slytherin's book. After the students had gone off to bed, he'd stayed in the common room and read that book from cover to cover, examining it closely for signs of deceit or forgery or whatnot. Eventually, he had to conclude that it was not only genuinely authored by their esteemed founder, but also written in good faith.

_'If only someone could've read this book sooner...'_

If only this could've happened when he and Lily were still in school. Then, maybe things wouldn't have turned out this way. Maybe then he wouldn't have lost her...

Severus cursed himself for his distraction when a loud boom sounded in the back of the class. He immediately made his way to Seamus Finnigan's now-deformed cauldron, making sure to give Potter a good scolding as well. The boy was a spitting image of his father: same hair, same face, same popularity, same mannerism. Probably fancied himself a little hero too. Severus would give his life to ensure that Harry grows up safely and amounts to something, _for Lily. _Heck, he would even referee a Quidditch match for him. but he could certainly do without having to set eyes on the boy so bloody often.

Sighing, he stalked back to the relative calmness of the front of the class. While Malfoy wasn't a particularly talented potioneer, he had at least enough literacy skills and common sense not to do anything catastrophic. Avery and Nott's potion was excellent. Zabini and Greengrass's potion was fine. And Granger clearly knew exactly what she was doing, which was not something most potioneers could claim.

He hadn't expected to find someone with her talents in Gryffindor, but perhaps he shouldn't say that. Lily had been a Gryffindor and a muggleborn, after all, and she was brilliant.

If only someone could've read the book sooner. But there was no use in wishing.

There was no use in wishing, but there _was_ still hope for the future. And now, he wished Granger and her friends luck.


	21. Year 1: Chapter 20

The long anticipated (or dreaded, depending on who one asked) Quidditch match finally arrived. Hermione did not allow herself to be dragged out to the audience stands this time, having purposefully avoided Ron after breakfast. However, she did station herself with a pair of binoculars at a window facing the Quidditch field. This was a much better way to watch the game, in her opinion. From up here, she would be protected from the elements. She would not have to strain her neck by looking up for long periods of time. She would not get scolded for multitasking, or lacking enthusiasm. But most importantly, she could point her binoculars wherever she wanted without getting odd looks.

She watched as Snape glide into the center of the field smoothly on his broom, wearing an annoyed but determined expression. The Gryffindor team had been wailing for days over how Snape would be picking through their every move, but they really had nothing to worry about. In fact, since his full attention would be focused on Harry and Quirrell, Hermione doubted he would say much even if the whole Gryffindor team started playing like the Slytherins.

Hermione followed Snape's gaze to the hovering, scarlet-clad figure that was Harry Potter. She still found it amazing that the boy would continue to play Quidditch, even after what happened to his broom during the first match. Certainly, he was alarmed at first, but Ron and the other Quidditch fans assured him that brooms never behaved this way. Of course, there had been speculations on why Harry's broom acted so erratically, but then Professor McGonagall had done some checks to verify that the broom was still functional, so Harry was good to go. He'd also gotten the idea that he simply _had_ to play, since there were no reserve Seekers and the small risk of falling from his broom was outweighed by the prospect of losing the House Cup.

And Hermione felt, not for the first time, that Quidditch really shouldn't count so much toward the House Cup. True, it helped students build up their physical agility, stamina and coordination, and promoted teamwork. Nevertheless, it should not be the primary way of earning points. Even Godric would never award 150 points for a game! If he'd tried to award more than twenty, he would've been outvoted three to one.

In the audience stands, Blaise and Daphne were sitting beside each other, but also with their respective group of friends. Theodore was not with them, however. She wouldn't blame him if he found the whole affair as boring as she did. Ron and Neville were watching the game with fingers crossed. Unfortunately, their peace was about to be disturbed, because Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were moving their way while sniggering among themselves. Hermione sighed as Ron flushed red and punched Malfoy in the nose. Neville had managed to cast a shield charm strong enough to keep both Crabbe and Goyle off them. This was fortunate, because otherwise they would've walked away with far more injuries.

Soft footsteps approached. A little unexpectedly, its owner came to a stop beside her. "Hello, Sal,"

"Oh, hi, Theo," Hermione half-turned, setting down her binoculars to look at the "missing" Slytherin first-year, "Have I occupied your usual spot?"

"I stood two windows down last time," he pointed, "I wasn't expecting to find anyone else here though."

Hermione explained that she didn't care much for Quidditch, but had to at least know what happened lest her fellow Gryffindors try to make her sit out there next time.

"Same here," Theodore nodded, taking out his own binoculars, "Oh look at Longbottom. Isn't that the shield charm?"

"He's gotten pretty good at it too, I think."

Theodore raised an eyebrow incredulously, but knew better than to comment.

Quirrell hadn't moved. Hermione had just shifted her attention back to Snape when Harry suddenly pelted toward the potion master-turned-referee. Her hand immediately closed on her wand, but it turned out that there was no cause for alarm. Harry had caught the snitch.

"What? Already?" Theodore stared in surprise. "The game's barely started!... Not that I'm complaining, of course." Indeed, it took a second for people to wrap their head around the fact that the game was over. After that, the stadium burst into cheers from Gryffindors, and applause from the other three houses, for the monumentally swift victory. Theodore extended his hand to her in good grace. "Well, congratulation, Gryffindor,"

She shook it. "Good game, Slytherin," she laughed, once again noting the irony. "At least your common room will be nice and quiet and usable when you go back. I bet the Weasley twins planned - in other words, stole supplies for - a loud celebration again." She was just about to stow away her binoculars when she caught sight of a small scarlet-clad figure taking off, some distance away from the retreating crowd. What was Harry doing?

It wasn't until she followed his flight path with her binoculars that she saw them: two figures, who she could make out to be Snape and Quirrell, were heading into the forest. Snape was bearing down on Quirrell threateningly, while the poor defense professor made a big show to be flustered and frightened as usual. Of course, in reality, Quirrell had someone much more dangerous to be afraid of.

Hermione tapped her fingers on the windowsill. Making Quirrell chicken out would've been a good strategy, if Quirrell had simply been receiving orders. Snape would've been told of Quirrell's possible connection to Voldemort and warned to watch out for him, if her understanding of Dumbledore's character was correct. However, Snape clearly didn't realize just how close that connection was. Was Dumbledore being secretive, or was he equally oblivious that Voldemort can effectively see through Quirrell's eyes and control his every move? Hermione was inclined toward the latter, and she was glad. Even though she would rather that Dumbledore knew exactly who he was dealing with, her respect for the headmaster's character would've dropped significantly if he'd been deliberately tricking the professors on this.

Snape seemed to be in the process of wrapping up his threats. Quirrell was still shaking. She couldn't hear their actual conversation, but Harry seemed to be listening attentively. She'd most likely receive an account of this the moment she enters the common room.

"Potter's eavesdropping?" Theodore had also noticed this.

He sounded unsurprised, Hermione realized, as if this was only logical. Why?

"Did you tell him, then? That Snape or Quirrell jinxed his broom last time?"

"How did you know I suspected them?" Hermione asked, genuinely surprised. She didn't expect another student to notice Snape and Quirrell, much less notice that _she'd _noticed them...

But he couldn't suspect she had something to do with the Bludger - she'd been very subtle after all, and her wand had been concealed in the sleeve of her robe. Theodore wouldn't have seen it even if he did search among the audience as she did.

"I thought you'd probably read a thing or two about jinxes. Besides, Potter clearly wasn't in any condition to look down at the time, and I doubted Weasley would've been much help. It would have to be you who noticed them."

That was not actually why Harry was investigating Snape, Hermione thought, but an interesting deduction nonetheless.

"But why would they do it?" Wondered Theodore, confused, "I mean, we all know that Snape hates Potter, but not enough to risk Azkaban to jinx his broom right? And what motives can Quirrell possibly have? It doesn't make sense, unless there's a third person hidden somewhere that both of us missed... But why's Snape mad at Quirrell then?"

"Beats me," Hermione shrugged. "But maybe that's why Dumbledore's at the game today - to figure out who did it."

Theodore nodded in acceptance. She knew he would keep watching, but he wouldn't attempt to involve himself in a situation that was far beyond him, that was already being taken care of by someone more capable, unless his own interest was affected. Thus was basic risk assessment, as well as the Slytherin doctrine.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Harry and Ron. Upon returning to the Gryffindor common room, as expected, Harry pulled her and Ron aside and told them how Snape demanded Quirrell to tell him about his "hocus-pocus". This must mean, he'd somehow concluded, that Snape had gotten past all the protections around the Stone except Quirrell's and Fluffy.

Hermione corrected that last piece of logic of course, but this did not reassure the boys completely. They started telling people off for making fun of Quirrell in class and sending him encouraging smiles, and they were more nervous around Snape than ever. To give them credit, they at least remembered her advice and took care to aim their suspicious glances at Snape's back only, rather than glaring at him outright - Not that the seasoned spy was fooled, of course. He simply didn't seem to have the energy to interrogate them.

To keep their minds off things that they'd best not concern themselves with, Hermione began insisting that they start studying for their exams. She knew that most students would've started later, but hard work would pay off sooner or later anyways. More importantly, given the kind of trouble these two seemed to be attracted to, they ought to become better than just passable.

"Aww, Sally!" On the seventh level, Portrait Godric chuckled once Harry and Ron were out of earshot, "Don't be so hard on my lions!"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm already cutting them a lot of slack for the theory, considering that they're Gryffindor, but they should at least reliably perform the practical portion of transfigurations and charms. And the leg-locking jinx and full-body bind are entirely within their skill level. There's no reason why they shouldn't learn those."

"That's true," Godric conceded. "It's a shame they had to cancel the duelling club. I think my students benefited a lot from it. Speaking of which, I've got a duel with Sir Cadogan at eleven o'clock. You know, though I still wish we could find a better portrait of my mentor, he's not half bad."

Hermione snorted. The other three founders could understand that Godric had wanted to honour his old mentor at Hogwarts. Nevertheless, painted by an amateur artist, certain aspects of Cadogan's personality had clearly been greatly exaggerated. This unfortunately resulted in a brash nuisance with very little wit and far too much enthusiasm for picking fights. Salazar had to charm his paintings so that nothing could enter it without permission, in order to keep Cadogan out. This worked for one year, until Cadogan heard rumours from students and became determined to "test the worth of the duellist whose prowess could supposedly parallel his protege's". He then started to scream at him from Godric's, Helga's, or Rowena's portraits in an attempt to bait him out, causing the greatly irritated witches to cast the same charm on their own portraits.

Godric later did the same for his portrait, though he did this mostly in the interest of defending himself from Salazar. (Salazar had a habit of throwing his eagle feather quill like a dart when he became annoyed, in life and much more so in painting. Much of the time, it would soar into the adjacent painting, which happened to be Godric. Though this was not entirely an injustice since, much of the time, the cause of his annoyance also happened to be Godric.)

"Suit yourself, but come and visit me when you finish, would you? There's something I'd like your opinion on."

"As you wish, M'lady," he mumbled.

"Why thank you, Godric. Starshine?"

* * *

In the depth of the night, Hogwarts was still and silent. Even the castle itself drops into partial hibernation due to the lack of residual magic to absorb. Occasionally one might hear the footsteps of a professor on patrol, the faint padding of that abomination of a cat called Mrs. Norris, or the gentle whoosh of a gliding ghost. But if one happened to be in the second floor girl's bathroom, for whatever reason, one might get a strange sensation that the floor might be vibrating. Of course, it would be completely silent - because there _was_ a silencing charm at work after all - and very faint. But even then, one could swear that there was some sort of fascinating logic to it, that it was almost rhythmic, before chalking it off to imagination.

But if one spoke Parseltongue and ventured down into the Chamber of Secrets at this moment, one would've been surprised to hear not the sleepy silence of the rest of the school, but music - a bit like a flute, or an organ, or a harp, or a drum. A single beautiful melody, elegant and fluid, sometimes warm and sometimes chilling. And if one saw that the source of the music was the acacia wand in the hand of a little girl, one would be more surprised still.

The final note dissipated into the large, empty anterior chamber. Hermione Granger stowed away her wand, whispered the password and stepped through the narrow stone entrance. "What do you think?" She'd been practicing frequently, but she wanted her friends' judgement for confirmation.

"Your signature Nocturne," Portrait Godric applauded, "I'm glad to finally hear it again."

"That was beautiful," Portrait Helga nodded kindly, "And you didn't make a single mistake, as far as I noticed."

"We struggled with sections of this when we composed it at fourteen," Portrait Salazar noted, "I'd say you're definitely at that level." At the time, it was the most challenging sequence of music Salazar could think of - he'd just finished work on his new wand, and he'd wanted to honour and test its brilliance. At the time, he could hardly play through all of it without stumbling. Just enough to appreciate what it sounded like, and glimpse what it could potentially sound like.

Hermione nodded. This was expected. Since her magic had already been trained once, it was more responsive and maturing faster than it had done the first time around. Not to mention that her wand had matured as well.

"You were somewhat unsteady on the louder passages," portrait Godric noticed. Hermione knew he often played at loud volumes as a self diagnostic when he was not at his strongest. "Which means you shouldn't try things like fiendfyre yet, as you probably realized."

"And you have little control over the timbre still," Observed portrait Rowena, "Well, perhaps I shouldn't say that. I doubt most people, the three of us included, could've done much better. But you... I remember how you used to make that cadenza sound like shattering glass, or running water, or dancing moonlight, depending on your mood," She smiled, "The brilliance that was your signature, Salazar."

"That's the degree of control I have to gain back. I've still got a very long way to go, then," Hermione sat down in the low walnut armchair near where Esmeralda had coiled herself. "I've been wondering, is Quirrell being physically or magically tapped in some way? And this would be indicative of how much Voldemort's learned of the dark arts, because if he knew how to siphon power from Quirrell to strengthen himself he would surely do it."

The others shrugged, but portrait Salazar's relaxed smile turned into something more serious and contemplative. "You're not just sizing him up now," he realized, "You're preparing to enter the battle early."

"Are you sure, Sal?" Asked Portrait Helga, "I don't want anyone to suffer either, but you're still a child! That sounds like the sort of thing Godric would do, actually. You know, go out and vanquish a Dark Lord at age - Oh! Sorry I didn't mean... I still forget sometimes," She finished sheepishly, having remembered that Salazar was in fact both highly proficient in the dark arts and a lord.

"I'm trying to judge how much I can afford to enter the battle early," Hermione nodded, steepling her fingers again. This was the dilemma she'd been considering for some time, but more and more often recently. She'd decided to stay out of trouble, but...was that even possible anymore? "Once he returns to power, a lot of lives would be lost very quickly, not to mention that many Slytherin students and their families would be pressured to join him. Time will be critical. Of course, I still intend to let Dumbledore deal with things as long as he's in a position to do so. But if the situation arises... "

If, for example, Harry Potter does end up foolishly challenging Voldemort for the Philosopher's Stone this year. If Dumbledore had underestimated Quirrell or Voldemort or both. Both conditions were becoming increasingly likely.

She caught Portrait Salazar's eyes. If she fights _now_, then at best she and Voldemort would be evenly matched. The likelihood of winning and losing would be 50%. The penalty of losing would most likely be death, she realized rather soberingly.

In muggle terms, it was Russian Roulette, effectively. Except played with a coin toss instead of a six-chambered pistol.

But if she does nothing, then Harry and Ron may die. And while she didn't worry as much about Theodore recklessly running toward danger, he was still standing a bit too close to it for comfort. Her hand would be forced really soon with the way things seemed to be heading.

Was there some way out of this that didn't involve risky duels?

...

Perhaps things would be much simpler if, as the popular opinion insisted, Slytherins had no hearts.


	22. Year 1: Chapter 21

"Is it just me, or is Hagrid acting a bit ... well... odd?" This was the first thing that came out of Daphne's mouth the moment she sat down at their usual table.

"Odd is an understatement," Blaise snorted, "I saw him on my way in too, and I think sneaky is the best word."

"Which really doesn't suit him at all."

"Too right, Theo."

"Is he still there looking for whatever he's looking for?" Hermione, who had been silently remarking on the mildly relaxing effect of not having to listen to Harry and Ron guess at the enchantments around the Philosopher's Stone for an afternoon, quirked an eyebrow. She, too, had spotted Hagrid as she passed though the library. Towering among the bookshelves, he had been rather hard to miss. Still, she suspected that they wouldn't be discussing him now if he hadn't been ducking his head and trying _not _to be noticed. It really was a rather funny sight to behold.

"Yup," Daphne confirmed helpfully. "I wonder what..."

Having all remembered the gamekeeper's location as they came in, it had been no trouble to take a detour through that section as they leave. There, they realized, to their horror, that Hagrid had been trying to learn about dragons' lives. Because knowing Hagrid's affinity to dangerous creatures, recalling his incredibly incriminating expression, considering the subject matter...

"Dear Salazar..." Blaise blanched, "I hope this doesn't mean what I think it means,"

"That we should watch out for a dragon when we go outside in the near future?" Daphne grimaced. "It sounds ridiculous, but for some reason I'm not assured..."

"Isn't it against the law to raise dragons?" Theodore remembered.

"I'm not sure if he cares,"

Hermione facepalmed. _'So Hogwarts finally gets a dragon. Happy now, Godric?'_ Too bad it couldn't be allowed to stay. Legilimency and Godric's efforts had shown that dragons were simply not capable of developing complex thoughts or detailed information retention. And Hagrid was unfortunately no more equipped to keep and train a dragon than Godric, even if his half-giant status granted him substantial immunity to injuries.

"We should tell someone," Daphne suggested, "but since we don't have proof they probably won't believe us."

"Especially since we haven't even seen a dragon or an egg. We're only guessing," Blaise agreed, "though there isn't much of a puzzle here, in my opinion."

Theodore shrugged. Daphne and Hermione glanced at each other thoughtfully.

Eventually, Theodore proposed, "I don't suppose there's any harm to checking it out this time?"

* * *

And so it was that the four Slytherins (give or take) ended up crouched beneath the windowsill of the gamekeeper's hut, trying to peek inside through a small crack in the drawn curtains.

"Theo, do you see anything?" Daphne asked again, a little impatiently. "I don't appreciate having to kneel in such a filthy place!"

"Not much," Theodore replied, his nose up against the glass. "Can't see anyone inside. Room's not as dark as you would expect it to be though, what's with the curtains and all. I think he's got a fire going."

"Even when no one's inside?" Blaise, who had been facing the other way to keep a look out for people approaching from the castle, turned. "What's the bet that the dragon's in the fire?"

"Hagrid's on his way back," Hermione, who had been watching for Hagrid's return from the forest, warned. It occurred to her that they hadn't checked whether the other side of the hut was clear, and would be found if Hagrid had been working in the pumpkin patch all along. She didn't bring it up, however, since there was no penalty for being caught this time. At least not from her perspective. "Oh, never mind. He's turned around again."

They looked at each other, trying to decide what to do next.

"Ooh, let me have a look,"

"All yours, Daphne." Theodore said, scooting over to make space.

"Whoa... is that unicorn hair hanging from the ceiling? And is it just me, or does the room look kind of smoky?"

"Not sure... What now?"

Before they could do anything, however, they were interrupted by loud barking. Fang, Hagrid's black hound, had leapt out from behind a pile of pumpkins and latched onto Blaise's cloak. "Ahh! Get off me!"

"Down, boy! Down, boy!" Daphne tried, wanting to help yet afraid to get too close to Fang's teeth. Theodore pointed his wand at the large dog and tried to think of a spell that would subdue it without injuring it severely. They would be in so much trouble if they accidentally kill the dog.

"What are y'all doin' here?" Hagrid boomed, bounding over at the commotion. Noticing the green-and-silver scarves, his normally ruddy face turned a shade paler with alarm. With surprising swiftness, he planted himself protectively between the children and the door of his hut.

Hermione saw Theodore and Daphne conceal an eye-roll at this, opting instead to smile innocently. Blaise was holding the bite marks on his cloak mournfully, now that Fang had slinked away. "This was my best cloak..." he fretted.

Hagrid surveyed the group suspiciously, hands on his hips, before noticing Hermione. His bushy eyebrows shot up like rockets. "_Sally_?"

"We're visiting, Hagrid," Hermione smiled back, angelically.

"All o' ye?" Hagrid asked, unconvinced. "But them Slytherins never come here..."

Daphne and Blaise exchanged a subtle glance that said, _'You don't wonder why...'_

Hagrid's expression became increasingly guarded as he worked out why they could suddenly be interested in his hut. "Yer not here about the... I don't know where you heard it from, but it's all rumours! I'm not raising a ... anything dangerous here!"

Hermione resisted the urge to facepalm at how quickly Hagrid gave himself away. Theodore wasn't so successful.

"We didn't _know _before," Daphne said, deliberately wide-eyed, "It must be your guilty conscience playing tricks on you, my friend! But now we do! Allow us to advise you against the hazards of keeping a volatile _fire_-breathing creature in a _wooden_ hut?"

Rubeus Hagrid glanced furtively at the lot, then sighed in defeat. "Come on in, then. And please don't blab about this to the whole school..."

They followed Hagrid into his small hut, all deciding not to tell their host that he was doing a very good job of it himself. Minutes later they were sitting, surprisingly calmly, around Hagrid's small round table sipping tea. Hagrid had also offered them a platter of rock cakes, but those mostly went untouched. A dragon egg was indeed lying in the fireplace, which also explained why the temperature within the room needed to be so high.

"So let me get this straight," Blaise asked, "you got _a dragon's egg _from some bloke in a bar?"

"Won it in a bet," Hagrid grinned. "The bloke challenged that I couldn't drink four mugs of malt whiskey, so I showed him -"

"I'm sure you did, Hagrid," Daphne shook her head disapprovingly, muttering something about livers.

"- and he jus' happened to have a dragon egg with him -"

"Normal people don't just _happen _to carry dragon eggs around," Theodore interrupted, "What kind of shady places do you go to, Hagrid?"

"I don't -" Hagrid waved his large hands vigorously, affronted. "It was a decent pub! Can't believe I'm bein' lectured 'bout shady places by Slytherins..."

Theodore was wearing a look that clearly said, _'I don't believe you,' _but didn't comment.

"Anyways, I've always wanted a dragon as a boy," Hagrid continued with sparkling eyes, "and I was so happy when he handed the egg to me. I promised him I'd take good care of it an' all."

"But Hagrid, what are you going to do when it hatches?" Hermione reminded him gently, "It'll breath fire, so it can easily burn your hut_ and_ the forest. And soon it'll grow so big that it won't fit in your hut anyways. And it'll have to eat too. Can you control it and make sure that it doesn't eat, well, _us_?"

"I... I haven't thought o' that yet," Hagrid mumbled, "I guess, I guess I'll jus' have te train him like Fang."

"Dragons don't learn as well as dogs, Hagrid, and they're much more dangerous. And I have it on good authority that great wizards have tried many things and failed. Even tickling - don't do that, by the way. It won't end well."

"But I can't just leave him! He's just a baby!" the gamekeeper looked at them pleadingly, then looked toward his precious dragon egg. The deceptively innocuous thing was sitting among the charred wood, oblivious to the trouble it was about to cause and - _'Oh hell is that a CRACK?'_

Hagrid leapt up and excitedly ran to the grate. "It's hatching!"

"Oh _great_!" Daphne wailed.

Hagrid didn't hear her, as he was busy fawning over the egg. He attempted to cradle it in his arms, but jerked his hand back when its surface proved to be quite hot.

"Now what do we do -" Blaise began to ask quietly, but didn't get the chance to finish because the door suddenly opened.

"Hey Hagrid we had a free period and we just thought we'd stop by to talk to you about the st- " Harry and Ron stood in the doorframe. Their mouth opened and closed as they took in the thick smoke in the room, Hagrid's ecstatic grin, the odd round object in his arms, Hermione and the three Slytherins. Understandably, they were at a loss of words.

"Erm... _What -_ "

...

It was Hagrid who broke the momentary silence.

"Want te see my dragon?"


	23. Year 1: Chapter 22

"What are _you_ doing here?" Ron blurted.

Harry winced slightly at the accusing tone. He was surprised to see the Slytherins as well, but did Ron really have to start an argument?

Well, surprised was an understatement. He was still wondering whether he might be dreaming, actually. Maybe this was just a weird dream, where Hagrid's house was on fire, and Sally was happily having tea with Slytherins while Hagrid was waltzing around them and holding a dragon egg which _hatched_ -

"Look at 'im! Isn't he the cutest little dragon you've ever seen? Mummy loves 'im so much -"

The little dragon responded by blowing a tongue of flame onto the wooden table, which Sally quickly put out with _a__quamenti. _Harry pinched himself. It felt real enough.

"_We_ are trying to convince Hagrid that he can't raise a dragon in his hut," Sally told them, and Harry hoped the dragon would distract Ron enough to stop him from saying any more rude things. He could see that the Slytherins were offended, and rightly, but fortunately they didn't retaliate yet. It would only be a matter of time if Ron wouldn't stop, though.

And why did Hagrid have a dragon in his arms anyways? Were you even allowed to do that?

"Not you, _them_ -"

"But I can't jus' get rid of 'im now! He's jus' an adorable baby - Ow! He bit me, the little tyke. Don't worry, he's just playing,"

"Hagrid, I'm not sure if it's a good idea to keep a dragon," Harry frowned.

"Yeah," the Slytherin girl nodded. _'Her name's Greengrass, I think.'_ "What if it takes a bigger bite next time?"

Unfortunately, Ron plowed on. "Sally, what are you doing with those slimy snakes?"

Sally folded her arms. "Snakes are not slimy, for your information. And stop being rude to my friends, please."

One of the boys, Zabini (?), had been on the verge of saying something scathing, but calmed a bit at this.

"This is Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott."

Ron just glared.

Harry didn't know who to side with. Ron was his friend, but so was Sally, and he didn't see why they should be mean to Daphne, Blaise, and Theodore in the first place. He never appreciated people telling other people who to be friend with. He remembered how no one in primary school would play with him because Dudley told them not to.

_'But they're Slytherins!' _said a small voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Ron's.

But what was the problem with Slytherins? Slytherin himself hadn't been that bad, had he? Certainly not as bad as everyone insisted that he was. And as far as he could see, Ron was the one being rude here. The Slytherins hadn't even said a thing.

Another thought occurred to him. What would Ron say if he found out that Harry was a Parselmouth? Would _he_ become the "slimy snake" then? But he hadn't done anything to him! _'And neither has Daphne, Blaise, or Theodore.'_

Sod Ron. "Er, it's nice to meet you," he greeted tentatively, not sure whether he was supposed to shake hands or not.

Harry felt relief when Blaise and Theodore smiled back. Ron looked outraged, but was again pointedly ignored by the others. "Good to meet you too," Daphne said warmly, "Harry,"

" - Mummy's gonna name 'im Norbert! What d'ya think, eh? Norbert's a cute name fer a dragon?"

Six pairs of eyes rolled simultaneously.

* * *

Though Ron still refused to talk to the Slytherins, and vice versa, there were some things that they'd agreed on fairly quickly. For example, they'd unanimously agreed - well, excluding Hagrid - that "Norbert" had to go. It was further decided that Ron would write to his brother Charlie, who worked in a dragon reserve, to ask if someone could come and collect the dragon, and that Hagrid would keep the dragon safe and hidden in the meantime. Then, when Charlie sent a reply saying that the dragon must be picked up at night, and smuggled up to the Astronomy Tower no less, it was realized that they shouldn't _all_ go, since it would only increase the amount of noise made and thus their chance of getting caught. It was further decided, again unanimously, that one person from each house should go, in order to prevent either house from ratting the other out.

Lastly, these two representatives were determined to be Theodore and Hermione. _'Sooo... I guess I'm smuggling a dragon now.' _

Any remaining confidence she might've had about being able to stay uninvolved had just flown out the window with that thought. Whatever.

Daphne, Blaise and Theodore had later expressed to her that while they'd very much like to make Harry's acquaintance, they hoped they'd never have to stand beside Ron Weasley again. Hermione completely respected this, and sometimes brought Harry along to the library when Ron was out of sight. Harry complained less about studying since he started meeting with them, she noticed. Good influences certainly did help.

Meanwhile, Ron was none too happy about Hermione's, and now Harry's, continued association with Slytherins. He'd been fuming when they'd first returned from Hagrid's hut. "How could you two side with _them_!"

"You were being rude, and they weren't," Hermione had told him calmly, "Listen, you can't just insult people because they're in Slytherin. You don't hear Daphne calling us 'grisly Gryffindors' or something, do you?" Indeed, she was grateful that her Slytherin friends had managed to refrain from openly insulting Ron, for her sake and for their own sake. If they'd acted like Malfoy did on the train, Harry would've been forced to come to Ron's defence.

Although, come to think of it, 'grisly Gryffindor' did have a rather nice ring. Should've thought of this a thousand years ago.

"But she's a slimy Slytherin!"

"Daphne's a nice girl, as I'm pretty sure you'll realize if you actually take a minute to talk to her civilly. Right, Parvati?"

"Of course," Parvati vouched, hands on her hips, "We've been friends since we were little. Don't be so mean, Ron!"

Ron huffed.

Hermione sighed silently. "Ron, why do you hate Slytherins so much?"

"They're Death Eaters!"

"They're eleven-year-olds," Hermione corrected patiently. "You-know-who wouldn't recruit eleven-year-olds, would he?"

"Then they're a bunch of stuck-up arses!"

"It's called manners, Ron." _'Ha, funny. I think Godric said that once, although it was singular then.'_

"They think they can buy their way into anything, or just cry to their daddies."

"That's Malfoy. Theo and Blaise work hard for everything they got, whether it's grades or points."

"But, but... they cheat on Quidditch!"

"Theo doesn't even like Quidditch. And I saw Blaise and Daphne applaud for Harry when he caught the snitch." Now there was an actual point. One of Slytherins' greatest strengths was to think around rules that would otherwise put them at a disadvantage, and turn the situation in their favour. Take Quidditch for example. How could Slytherin expect to win a single house cup, when the Quidditch team pretty much secures the victory and people with Gryffindor-type personalities were generally more athletic? But in bending the rules, they cause life to become very unfavourable for everyone else who didn't want to play their mind games. It was only natural that people like Ron would shun them to protect themselves.

But contrary to what people thought, Slytherins never disregarded all the rules. Like all decent human beings, they had certain morals and standards that were strictly upheld. One of Salazar's personal rules was that those he manipulated would suffer no harm or net loss from things he made them do. Typically he would even try to ensure that something good came out of the deal for them as well. Of course, things may be different if they'd wronged him previously, or took a risk in hopes of double-crossing him.

But back to the subject of Ron. Though he still disapproved of Hermione and Harry's choice of company, the redheaded Gryffindor at least stopped pestering them about it. There wasn't much he could do to stop them, after all.

When the time they'd agreed upon came, Hermione easily slipped out of the castle and met Theodore at Hagrid's cabin. A sniffling Hagrid reluctantly handed them the large wooden(!) crate that contained Norbert. "He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey, and I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely... Bye-bye Norbert! Mummy'll never forget you!"

Hermione and Theodore looked from the sobbing half-giant to the crate and sighed. "Wingardium leviosa. C'mon, let's go..."

They made their way back into the school carefully, one hand holding their wands and the other pushing the crate along. Peeves was playing tennis in the entrance hall, but pretended not to notice them as they passed behind him.

"Any trouble getting out?" Hermione whispered.

"Not really," Theodore whispered back, "I've been sneaking out occasionally to practice my spells, so I've got some experience with this."

"Same," Hermione made a mental note of this.

They made it to the astronomy tower without too much trouble. They'd been found by Mrs. Norris in a ground floor corridor, but Hermione immobilized her with 'petrificus totalus' before she could even do so much as meow. She then took a quick detour to a nearby torch bracket and levitated the cat's tail through it.

"When do you reckon Filch's going to find her?" Theodore smirked. Clearly the nuisance of a cat had annoyed him too many times as well.

"In the dark, up there? Probably not for some time. Maybe tomorrow morning, poor soul."

They handed off Norbert with relief. At the bottom of the tower, they were surprised to hear an ominously angry voice. "Detention! and twenty points each from Gryffindor!" That sounded like McGonagall. "Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you! What do you have to say for yourselves, Mr. Weasley? Mr. Potter?"

"What in Merlin's name are they doing out?" Theodore hissed, wide eyed, but wasted no time in backtracking carefully up the spiral stairs.

"That's what I'd like to know," Hermione replied, glancing over her shoulder at the one and only exit to the tower while skipping up the stairs as quickly as she could while maintaining silence. When the bathrobe-clad Professor McGonagall passed while dragging two Gryffindor boys behind her, they carefully snuck out of the tower and headed the other way back to the grand staircase, where they parted ways. Hermione returned to the Gryffindor common room, uneventfully as always.

As she lay down in her bed, she wondered what pitiful excuse Ron and Harry would give her tomorrow morning. It was their own problem that Gryffindor lost forty points, and that they got detentions.

And if they get blamed for Mrs. Norris tomorrow morning, it would be their own problem as well.

* * *

**A.N.: and that's how Mrs. Norris got petrified &amp; hanged from a torch by Slytherin**


	24. Year 1: Chapter 23

It turned out that Ron had bravely left the safety of the Gryffindor common room yesterday to _protect her_. From whatever nefarious schemes the Slytherins had surely got planned. Ron didn't consider that she'd gotten along fine before _he_ knew about who she was spending time with for the past few months, or that Theodore's performance in class made it quite obvious who would win in a duel, or that his wandering around at night would negate the benefits of their previous agreement. He just _had_ to do something.

Harry, realizing that it was a terrible idea, followed him out to try and turn him back. In his haste, he'd forgotten to bring the invisibility cloak.

Hermione had already facepalmed multiple times by then, but actually had to fight down an urge to draw her wand and hex Ron when she heard the next bit of the account. When questioned by McGonagall, before Harry could do anything, the idiot had the galls to blurt out that "Sally and Nott are meeting each other tonight, and I didn't want the slimy snake to do anything to her...you know..." How dare he!

Clearly the idiot had no idea what he'd accidentally insinuated, but Professor McGonagall did. The end result was that herself and Theodore were invited by McGonagall and Snape respectively to their offices, thankfully discreetly. There they were each given a private lecture on the danger of, as McGonagall most eloquently tried to explain, "doing something improper with each other" before they were ready. ("Miss Granger, I am aware that children these days - er - mature sooner than in my time, but you're only in first year!") Fortunately, both Hermione and Theodore were in good standings with the professors, must've looked suitably confused at the accusation, and hadn't actually been caught. This allowed them to be let off with an awkward apology (from McGonagall. She could only guess at what happened on Theodore's end) and no complications.

Meanwhile, Ron and Harry could look forward to a special detention. Also, Gryffindor lost eighty points - forty last night and forty more once they'd found Mrs. Norris, and were again nearly neck-to-neck with the Slytherins, much to their housemates' dismay and to Malfoy's delight. Theodore now glared at Ron with cold fury whenever he set eyes on him, making the redhead shiver. Blaise and Daphne, who had evidently been told that Ron had blabbed but not about the meeting with Snape, wore less intense expressions of distaste. Even Harry couldn't resist glowering at Ron whenever something reminded him of his own impeding detention.

Hermione thanked Harry for being sensible, though she suggested that he make use of a helpful spell called 'petrificus totalus' the next time he finds himself in a similar situation. For Ron, she had only a liberal amount of dirty looks and three words: "your own fault". There were so many things he shouldn't have done that she didn't even know how to start.

When she'd stop feeling tempted to hit him, perhaps.

* * *

"I don't get why everyone's so mad at me!"

Fred and George couldn't help but smirk. Ickle Ronnikins was too funny when he sulked. "Aww, Ronnikin's in trouble?"

Ron nodded. He looked so lost that Fred felt like petting his head, so he did. Ron swiped his hand away. "Everyone's glaring at me! Harry, Sally, everyone! Just because I got caught sneaking out yesterday and Harry got caught trying to stop me and we lost eighty points -"

"What the hell, Ron! That was you?!" So _he's _the reason why they'd almost lost their lead! Small wonder that everyone was mad at him! Fred and George and Lee had, in fact, spent the whole morning plotting how to punish the bastard who'd lost their hard-earned points...

"Not you too!" Ron wailed adorably, "And forty points weren't even my fault. I don't know which of them hanged Mrs. Norris - not that I'm complaining - And it's not as if you two never lost any points for us!"

He had a point there.

"And what have I done to them? It's not as if I got _them_ into trouble - well, Harry got detention. But Sally got away, hadn't she? I mean, I kind of told McGonagall that she was out of bed at night as well, but she didn't get caught! Why's she still mad at me?"

Fred chuckled while George tut-tutted as their little brother recounted the whole dragon egg debacle. Ronnikin still had so much to learn. "Ron, one of the golden rules of mischief-makers is, 'If you get caught, don't drag your accomplice underwater with you.' By tattling on her, you not only increased her risk of getting caught but also possibly jeopardized the whole operation. You also might've made McGonagall suspicious of her, so she's mad at you. Simple."

"And why didn't you stick to the plan anyways?" George asked, "I personally thought it was clever of you to send one person from each house. And you couldn't have chosen your representatives better."

"Why?"

"Well, take it from our years of experience with pranking and general hooliganism," Fred smirked.

Ron flushed. "But I had to make sure she's ok! Who knows what those Slytherins are planning behind our back? And what about the points, then? They could get her caught to make Gryffindor lose points!"

"Getting caught won't be of any use to them if they can't extract Nott, and you all knew that," Fred reminded him. "You'll lose an equal amount of points - that's why your original plan was so clever. But then you and Harry had to go out as well, making it advantageous for Slytherin to expose the operation since now three Gryffindors would get caught versus one. And besides, they didn't tattle, if I heard you correctly. You broke the agreement, you got caught because you were clumsy, and then you tattled. Your own fault, as Sally said."

"But it was for her own good!"

Fred traded a look with his twin. "Ron, you don't need to worry about Greengrass, Zabini, or Nott," George told him, "We've been watching for some times. We don't think they'll hurt Sally." Besides, they probably couldn't anyways. Fred and George knew that little Sally was as devious as any Slytherin. They'd worked together, after all.

They weren't about to tell though. Golden rule of mischief-makers and all.

"How do you know?"

"We have our ways."

"Look, we know you don't like Slytherins much. We're not sure what to think of them either," said George, "But maybe they're not all bad. I mean, we never really got to know any of them, and a lot of the bad things we heard about Slytherin the founder turned out to be wrong. Have we ever talked to any of them properly? Like not for the purpose of slinging insults, I mean?"

Ron shook his head slowly. "That's what Sally said too..."

"Anyways, Sally's not stupid. If she trusts them enough to be friends with them, then I don't see why you should object," Fred finished, vaguely wondering whether he'd ever sounded so sincere in his life.

Ron nodded reluctantly, gathering his bag. "I've got to go to detention now... Nott, Zabini and Greengrass are mad at me too. I don't think they liked me much after I insulted them the first time, but now they're glaring at me wherever I go."

"That's not surprising," George pointed out, "I'm sure Nott doesn't appreciate betrayal either. He has a perfect record to maintain too."

"Oh."

But now that Ron brought it up, Nott's reaction did seem a little strange. After all, Ron's actions did Slytherin a great favour. If he got away without any consequence at all, then he should in all rights be gloating, right? "Ron, what exactly did you tell McGonagall?"

"That I was trying to protect Sally."

"No, the exact wording."

"Merlin! Why does everyone keep asking me that? I just said that Sally and Nott are meeting each other tonight, and I didn't want the slimy snake to do anything to her - Hey! What's so funny?"

Ron looked around bemusedly as the twins started to laugh in his face.

"In that case -" Fred tried to speak, but was having difficulties sitting up straight. He was glad that the common room was currently abandoned, or they would've been heard by the whole house. Sally wouldn't appreciate it.

"-In that case -" George wheezed between cackles, "you're lucky he hasn't cursed you yet! They must've gotten talked to by McGonagall and Snape - Snape! Oh Merlin - "

Fred tried to imagine Snape giving someone _the talk_. It proved to be a horrible idea, because it made him laugh so hard that he fell out of his chair. "Oh great going Ron! This is why we always choose decent accomplices! This is bad... This is really bad..."

Poor little darlings! Perhaps he should avoid the pair (_'No! No! Don't think that, damn it!')_ for the next few days. If he sees them, he might burst out laughing, and then more than one Weasley would get cursed.

"What! Why?"

Ickle Ronnikin still had so, so much to learn...

"We'll tell you some other time... When you're older," giggled George, "Just... Go and apologize for the tattling... and maybe for being rude... but don't bring this last part up again, 'kay? Trust us."

"Oh, and Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't repeat what you've just said to anyone. Please."

* * *

Midnight, Hermione woke with a start.

There was a warm sensation on the left side of her chest, where a piece of enchanted parchment was folded.

Quirrell has entered the trapdoor chamber.


	25. Year 1: Chapter 24

Albus set down the message and stood, preparing to apparate. Emergency Wizengamot meeting? He wondered what Fudge was up to this time. Typically, the man only called emergency meetings in hopes of discouraging certain individuals from attending.

"Are you going somewhere, headmaster?" A soft, lilting voice addressed him.

Albus paused. This was a voice he very rarely heard, and did not particularly want to hear, but one that he felt compelled to pay attention to whenever it did speak. Warily, he turned and looked up at the portraits of the founders, hanging above the headmaster's seat. More specifically, at the sharp-looking man in green.

"Emergency Wizengamot meeting, Salazar," Albus nodded curtly, not wishing to elaborate too much. Ever since he became headmaster, he'd never really felt comfortable around Slytherin's portrait. The pair of silver eyes, even in painting, held a perceptive gleam that never failed to unnerve him. (Rather like the way his own "twinkling" blue ones sometimes unnerved others?) Its relatively high location in the office was such that Albus could generally avoid looking at it as he went about his daily business, so he did. Perhaps noticing Albus's discomfort, Slytherin generally didn't assert his presence either. He didn't chatter like the other portraits did, and most of the time Albus hazarded a glance at him, he was either absent or sleeping.

Most of the time, Albus was allowed to pretend that he wasn't there. Today seemed to be an exception. "It seems rather out of the blue, no? Are you certain it's wise, headmaster, to leave Quirrell unattended?"

"I've asked Severus to be on patrol in addition to Minerva. He's an expert duellist, and Minerva is formidable in her own right. I trust that they will be capable of keeping the school safe while I'm gone." How did Slytherin know about Quirrell? Albus had been careful not to let his suspicion for the possible Death Eater show while inside the headmaster's office. It wasn't that the portrait showed any inclination of sympathizing with Voldemort, of course, but Albus wasn't so delusional about his own abilities to pretend that Slytherin could be read like an open book. One couldn't be too cautious with people like him.

And he couldn't help but feeling that Slytherin knew too much already.

"If I may ask, why do you suspect Quirinus?"

Slytherin shrugged. "I have my ways,"

Of course.

"Back to my point, headmaster. Are you confident that Severus can handle Quirrell?"

"Yes, Salazar. Now I must get going, or the Wizegamot might berate me for my lateness," Albus managed a ghost of the whimsical smile that he usually gave everyone else. He almost pulled it off. "So if you'll excuse me -"

He was halfway through his turn when Slytherin stopped him again. "Headmaster."

Albus looked up to show that he was listening. The sooner this conversation ends the better.

"Are you aware that Quirrell's actions - his body and senses - are currently directly controlled by Voldemort?"

Albus stiffened, meeting the silver eyes for a fraction of a second. Then, he disapparated with a crack.

* * *

So. Quirrell finally decided to make another move.

After noting the location of several important names, Hermione tucked her map away before going downstairs to the Gryffindor common room. Harry and Ron, who had been returning from detention, appeared through the portrait hole soon after.

"Oh good, you waited!" Ron exclaimed when he saw her. "We thought you might still be angry!"

"I am, but we'll worry about that later," Hermione surveyed their breathless faces, "There seems to be a problem?"

They hurriedly told her about seeing an entity drinking unicorn blood. Having assumed (most likely correctly) that it was Voldemort, and after obtaining some hints from the centaurs, they realized that Voldemort was the one who wanted the stone all along. "We've got to do something!" Harry insisted, "Voldemort's killed my parents. I won't just stand aside and let him come back!"

"I'm with you, mate," Ron declared determinedly. Though their course of action was suboptimal and their decision ill-considered, their tones had a impressively hardened resolve that would surely make Godric proud.

Both boys were currently looking at her expectantly. Hermione looked slowly from one Gryffindor to the other. She'd feared they would say this. She'd known they would say this. _'Just like heros. Just like martyrs... Damn you, bloody Gryffindors.' _

"Are you sure that we, as in the three of us, have to do something, and now? Can we not tell a teacher tomorrow?" Hermione asked. Having the boys running into Voldemort was the last thing she wanted.

"But Professor McGonagall insists that the stone is safe, and she said Professor Dumbledore's been summoned away for an important meeting! It's going to be tonight!"

"Professor Dumbledore's been summoned." Hermione repeated.

Harry nodded gravely.

_'Well, I tried...'_

"Then you're right. We've got to do something." She agreed. "We've got to head down to the dungeons and make sure Snape doesn't get anywhere near the Stone!"

"Yeah!"

There were so many problems with that plan that _if_ Snape was truly the enemy, they would likely be doomed. Fortunately this time, in stereotypical Gryffindor fashion, they were already heading for the dungeons under Harry's invisibility cloak and did not spend time on considering alternatives. Today this was just what she needed.

So, they couldn't do nothing. But that didn't mean anyone had to gambol their lives either. If her assumptions up to now were correct, then Dumbledore would've most likely placed Snape on patrol tonight with special instructions to watch the third floor corridor. Meanwhile, Snape wouldn't dare go anywhere near the third floor corridor if it meant that Harry would follow along, since Harry's safety came first. With luck, he would lock the two in his office for her.

They did meet Snape coming out of the dungeons, and Harry and Ron tailed him dutifully. At this point, Hermione offered to go and wait outside the Headmaster's office to alert Dumbledore immediately upon his return. This, too, was accepted. _'Good luck, boys. And sorry about that, Severus.' _

And now for herself...

Hermione climbed upstairs, bribing Peeves with a box of dungbombs in exchange for keeping the boys out of the third floor corridor as a precaution. She then made her way to the second floor girl's bathroom. Esmeralda's pipes extended nearly everywhere in the castle, and one of the multitude of concealed exits happened to be within the room in which _'Albus Dumbledore' _was currently pacing. It functioned somewhat like the brick wall at Platform 9 3/4: One could see out, but not in.

Meanwhile, _'Quirinus Quirrell' _seemed to be standing still, some distance away.

Voldemort had done her a favour by sending the fake summon, because it would've allowed Portrait Salazar to alert Dumbledore of Quirrell's attempt without giving herself away. Hopefully the sight of Dumbledore and the knowledge that his plan had been disrupted would cause Voldemort to flee. But if he insisted on duelling, well... two were better than one.

Checking one more time that Harry and Ron were still following Snape, Hermione transformed into the familiar horned viper and slithered off. The first time she'd done this, she'd been intrigued but not surprised to find that she was now black-brown and amber instead of black-green and silver. Well, that and being female.

_'Well. Let's see what awaits at the end of this tunnel, shall we?'_

* * *

Perhaps contrary to what he'd let Slytherin believe, Albus hadn't apparated to the Ministry of Magic, but to a room within Hogwarts itself. Disillusioning himself, he stood beside the Mirror of Erised and waited.

He _didn't _know that Voldemort was directly controlling Quirrell, in fact. He wondered how Slytherin came about this information, and why he decided to share it with him. One might almost think that Slytherin was concerned that Voldemort might succeed... He would think about it later. After he noticed Quirinus acting somewhat different after his return from his sabbatical, after he realized that Quirinus had travelled to Albania, he suspected that Professor Quirrell might be reporting to Voldemort. He didn't think their contact would be so close.

When he'd asked the professors to set up the "protections" for the Stone, he'd asked them to come up with the most frustratingly time consuming, yet most humiliatingly simple obstacles they could think of. Their goal had been to wear down either the intruder's patience and ability to think cool-headedly, or to tire him out if he chose to take all the barriers down by brute force. Severus's potions were a very nice touch, for example, as it forced the intruder to play word puzzles like a muggle.

He didn't tell them that their protections would also serve as an obstacle course for a first year. They probably wouldn't like it. On that note, he was a bit disappointed that Harry didn't investigate this corridor any further. Although, given the new context of the situation, he supposed this was fortunate.

At the end of the corridor, having come all this way, the intruder would still be unable to extract the stone in any case. The spell on the mirror, along with a multitude of others, would prevent that...

For virtually every wizard in the world, Albus could claim this with certainty. Unfortunately, Tom Marvolo Riddle was one of the exceptions, even though Albus couldn't see any way he could get at the Stone. His Death Eaters were nothing to worry about, but Tom... His pattern of logic, like Slytherin's, made it difficult to say anything for certain.

Slytherin was right. He didn't feel confident leaving Voldemort to Severus and the other professors, let alone letting him anywhere near Harry anytime soon. Originally he'd also been hoping that the moral burden of killing his own students and colleagues would stall Quirinus, but now that seemed unlikely as well. It was better to deal with him personally, and alone, to be safe.

Quirinus's victorious figure finally appeared through the black flames. Albus observed for sometime while Quirinus, and Tom, contemplated the mirror. He wondered what they'd see. Perhaps Quirinus presenting the stone to his master, or Tom returned to full power with the entire world kneeling at his feet? Finally, he removed the disillusionment charm on himself. "You won't get what you came for, Tom."

A high, cold laugh echoed through the chamber. It wasn't Quirinus's mouth that replied, but a sound source that seemed to be within the back of his turban. "Dumbledore." It spat. "You knew that I'm here, then?" And the purple turban was unravelled, revealing what was arguably the most grotesque face that Albus had ever seen. How it would awe people, if they knew that this was what the once handsome Tom Marvolo Riddle was on his way to becoming! "I didn't think you would ever realize."

"I suspected that Quirinus was working for you at the start of the year. I realized that you were controlling him like a puppet mere hours ago, regrettably. Even then, I had not a clue that you've physically attached yourself onto him."

"How did you know?" Tom demanded, in the same authoritative tone that he'd used the first day Albus met him at the orphanage.

Should Albus tell him that the information was willingly supplied by his own esteemed ancestor, to see what Voldemort's reaction would be?

"I have my ways, Tom." Better not bring Slytherin into this, when Albus himself hadn't had time to process what the portrait's surprising co-operativeness entailed. "I did not think anyone would go that far, Tom, even you."

Tom laughed. "There is no good or evil. There is only power. And those too weak to seek it suffer the consequence of their own stupidity."

"You're wrong, Tom, and I've told you many times already." He, too, had nearly believed that there was no good or evil. He and Gellert both. It was fortunate that he caught himself in time, possibly with _his _help ironically, or there would be two Dark Lords instead of one. And even then, some things were already too late to repair... "Will you attempt to duel me, or will you leave Hogwarts on your own?"

Another chilling laugh. "Since you're here, Dumbledore, I won't waste your time or mine. But know this: you have not killed me. You _cannot _kill me."

Albus knew that. There was the prophesy, after all.

With that, a black cloud rose from the back the back of Quirinus's skull. Albus did not pretend to be an expert in the mysterious field of soulcraft, especially since he'd actually conversed with one, but he'd studied them sufficiently in his youth to recognize the wraith for what it was. He looked down at Quirinus's body, now a lifeless heap on the floor. _'He wouldn't even spare his host, now that he's useless to him...'_

Suddenly, Albus's vision went black, and he realized belatedly that he'd forgotten to watch the wraith. How foolish of him, to forget that Tom never gave up so easily! But that knowledge wouldn't help him now. He thrashed about in the darkness, his ears buzzing and his mind blank with shock. He tried to rack his brain, search all of his extensive knowledge and experience, for some scrap of information that would extract him from the smothering darkness, but came up with nothing. And somehow, it was still closing in, growing thicker and thicker...

Albus couldn't tell if it was real or his own imagination, but he could almost hear his former student's high laughter ringing next to his ear - giddy, like a boy who'd finally beaten his mother to the cookie jar. Elated, that he'd finally had the advantage over the one professor who'd always made him feel like a child. Victorious, to finally be able to assure himself that he was the most powerful wizard bar none.

Albus did still have his magic at his disposal, however. He could feel it flare about him even though he had no idea or control over what it was doing. It had to be doing _something, _though - he could feel the resistance. He thought it scattered like dust in some places, but remained steadfast, or else fought viciously before faltering, in others... Or wait. Maybe the wraith was circling him? He couldn't tell. All he could do was push out more power in hope that it would somehow make a difference.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the darkness receded.

Albus glanced around the now empty and peaceful room. He could feel himself shaking slightly from his previous surprise, the attack and the heavy use of magic. He must not allow himself to be caught off-guard again.

Taking one last look at the Mirror of Erised, of his family and Arianna, he gently picked up Quirinus and apparated them away.

* * *

Hermione watched as Voldemort's soul floated off into the ether, and knew that it was over - for the time being.

Portrait Salazar and Esmeralda were waiting expectantly upon her return. _"Problem averted?"_

_"Not entirely, though for the most part yes," _she told them, sinking heavily into the her walnut armchair. At the moment she felt very grateful for its existence. _"Harry and Ron are still busy with Snape. Dumbledore came down to head Quirrell off, but he was attacked by Voldemort's wraith in the end and seemed to be losing. Fortunately, in attempting to defend himself, he'd sent out an impressive amount of magic, enough to enable me to banish the wraith by directing the headmaster's own power. Neither of them should suspect that they were fighting anyone other than each other...Voldemort__ actually attached himself to the back of Quirrell's head, by the way, not some spying mechanism. Even we had no idea."_

Portrait Salazar frowned, trying to imagine how Voldemort would've accomplished that. "_And how is our dearest cousin-some-hundred-times-removed?"_

_"His body is gone, but his soul is still tied to the realm of the living. It's terribly unhealthy, though. It felt wrong. It has far too little coherence, and was noticeably incomplete."_ Salazar had studies souls more than enough during his life, especially in the fifteen years after he'd left Hogwarts, to know that this was not normal.

_"Might this be a ritual similar to the one you used?"_

_"I don't think so. Knowing his history, I doubt he would survive a ritual like mine. The potion I used... you have to be reasonably confident in the strength of your soul to try it. Otherwise it would not be able to pull itself back together, and you would simply die. And if you get the theory wrong - no. It's not his style."_

_"I see,"_ he nodded slowly, committing this new bit of knowledge to memory for future processing. _"The lack of coherence is due to the number of people he murdered then, most likely. But incomplete... Do you think he might've tried _That_?"_

_"The single worst thing one could do to oneself?"_ Hermione steepled her fingers, thinking. _"From the evidence, it's not unlikely. And he did sound confident when he announced that Dumbledore cannot kill him."_

_"To murder for the purpose of intentionally tear his soul apart... "_ Portrait Salazar shook his head disgustedly, _"We thought Herpo had to be the only one in all of history to do something so appalling, now that everyone else knew what happened to him. But now to see 'the Heir of Slytherin' following in his footsteps! Merope, even Marvolo, would never dream that - they would be horrified!"_

Yes they would. While Marvolo was a swindling tramp and Merope a vain airhead, neither would ever imagine one of their family turning into a monster like Herpo. _"This gives me something else to do for the next few years, I suppose. Find the horcrux. I've no idea where to start though, so that might take some time."_

Portrait Salazar nodded._ "I'll keep watching Albus, of course."_

_"He's suspicious that you knew about Quirrell's turban, most likely." _This was the reason why they hadn't wanted to alert Dumbledore of it before.

_"He is, but he's also used to me knowing things. You're safe for now."_

_"That's good to know. I should go and wait outside the headmaster's office as I promised now - Dumbledore needs to see me there when he returns from the hospital wing. And then perhaps I can spare Snape from the boys' torment. I do feel sorry for what I'm subjecting him to." _

He chuckled. _"Of course. Take care, Sal."_

_"Don't I always?"_


	26. End of year 1

Hermione thought her first year ended on a reasonably happy note. Harry and Ron had been dragged by the ears to the headmaster's office for repeatedly disobeying orders to go back to their dormitory, where they were astonished to hear from Dumbledore that it was Quirrell who'd been trying to steal the Stone all along. Dumbledore had also informed the three that Voldemort had been possessing Quirrell, instructed them to keep this information to themselves, and surprised Hermione by saying that the Stone would be destroyed.

Hermione's view on this was ambivalent. It was Nicholas Flamel and his wife's decision, and they would've considered the trade-offs that were important to them.

All her friends did well on their exams, from Theodore ("You and I and three Ravenclaws are tied for first place, Sal!") to Ron ("Yes! Only one '_Troll_'!"). Blaise and Daphne had excellent scores in Potions, and Neville in Herbology. Harry and the Gryffindor team was able to claim victory again in the last Quidditch match, earning Gryffindor the House Cup by a narrow margin. Hermione applauded loudly at the year-end feast, both for Gryffindor's victory and the fact that Slytherin had been able to hold on to the Cup for seven years in a row.

Ron and Harry still maintained that Snape was a git, even though he may not be evil. Hermione protested the insult somewhat, mainly out of guilt for sending the boys after him as a fool's errand, but knew that it was a lost cause given the way Snape acted. Meanwhile, Ron apologized to Hermione and Theodore for snitching, and his treatment from the Slytherins returned from open glaring to veiled dislike. Theodore ceased imitating a basilisk and went back to looking perfectly indifferent around Ron quickly enough. The redhead interpreted this to mean that he was out of the woods, and breathed a sigh of relief. Hermione understood this to mean that some form of revenge was on the way, and rather looked forward to it.

On the train ride home, Hermione again roamed through the compartments to talk to various people. She exchanged promises of correspondence over the summer with Blaise, Theodore, and Daphne, as well as Neville. (Blaise and Theodore were both quite insistent that they all wrote frequently, since their summer would otherwise be effectively spent by themselves and would be very boring.) She had no particular interest in corresponding with Lavender and Parvati, but they'd pestered her so enthusiastically that she had to agree. Fred and George stoically told her that having witnessed her great talent in the art of mischief making, they would be honoured to receive her opinions on some of their future pranks.

However, she'd spent the largest part of the trip playing chess with Harry, Ron and Neville, who they'd found was actually remarkably good. Harry had asked Dumbledore whether he could stay at school for the summer at her suggestion, and had surprisingly been refused. As she exchanged both addresses and phone numbers with him, Hermione resolved to ask her parents whether Harry could come for a stay over. It may be a bit too much to ask of them if Harry was to live with them for the entire summer, but they should be ok with two weeks. As for herself, she planned to visit Hogwarts once in a while. Unlike the rest of the school, the apparition and disapparition wards of the bedroom of her underground chamber were still in her control, not the headmaster's. For the most part, however, she foresaw that her summer would be occupied by reading muggle books.

Her initial plan for the year had been to stay uninvolved. She'd more or less failed at that, and had ended up stirring quite a few pots anyways. But looking back, she supposed she shouldn't have expected any differently. In fact, she couldn't remember living a single uneventful year in the entirety of her first life. She just wasn't made to sit out on issues she cared about when she had the means to act. Perhaps in that she had more in common with Godric than she'd admit out loud.

But she did manage to be subtle about it, and that made it much more acceptable for her.

Outside the train, warm, golden sunlight washed over the bright grassy meadows and the gently rolling hills. Hermione could see why Helga had wanted this to be the view through her common room windows. Gazing out, one could almost feel all troubles floating away like smoke. Life felt golden.

Eventually, the train slowly pulled into the station. Hermione waved goodbye to her friends and walked toward the archway that led to muggle London, where Mum and Dad would be waiting for her with big smiles. She really did miss them.

"See you all next year!"

* * *

**End of first year :D**

**Sorry for such a short chapter. This one's just a conclusion, so there's very little plot**

**I've made it my mission to keep things as canon as possible so far, at least if seen from Harry's perspective. While this pleased some and not others, I found it more entertaining to imagine a Salazar!Hermione who is indistinguishable from Canon!Hermione from an observer's point of view than one who is obviously different from the start. **

**Of course, second year forces my hand in terms of canon compliance, as Sally can't logically let the Chamber of Secrets debacle happen. The effects of her machinations from first year will also set the stage for the changes to come :D **

**Second year's coming soon...**


	27. Year 2: No bed of roses?

...

-~sSs~-

**Year 2: No bed of roses?**

-~sSs~-

**"You've reached the home voicemail of Vernon Dursley, senior manager at Grunnings. For business-related messages, please leave your inquiry with my secretary."**

"Hi Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, this is Dr. Granger from the dental clinic, calling to remind you of your son's Saturday appointment from 4:30 to 5:30. On a more personal note, my daughter tells me she had the pleasure of meeting your nephew at school. We'd love to have him over for a stay, if that's agreeable with you. Have a nice day!"

* * *

At the clinic, a startled secretary nursed her ringing ear as she promptly cancelled Dudley Dursley's Saturday afternoon appointment, and all future ones as well. _'Good riddance. The boy never brushes his teeth anyways.'_

* * *

"Hello, am I speaking to Mrs. Dursley?"

"Are you a telemarketer? I don't recognize your number." The voice sounded familiar, and Mrs. Dursley didn't want to accidentally hang up on one of her friends.

"Oh no, Petunia. I'm using my personal phone number, you see. This is Olivia Granger -"

Beep... Beep...

"Hello? Petunia?"

Beep... Beep...

* * *

**"You've reached the home voicemail of Vernon Dursley, senior manager at Grunnings. For business-related messages, please leave your inquiry with my secretary."**

* * *

**"You've reached the home voicemail of Vernon Dursley, senior manager at Grunnings. For business-related messages, please leave your inquiry with my secretary."**

* * *

**"You've reached the home voicemail of Vernon Dursley, senior manager at Grunnings. For business-related messages, please leave your inquiry with my secretary."**

"Hi Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, this is Olivia Granger again. I understand your unwillingness to talk to me, and I've a feeling you're ignoring calls from this number, though I assure you that your alarm is unfounded. My husband and I are ordinary people like you, after all. We just happen to be experiencing a similar... situation -"

(The message was cut off, because Petunia Dursley had already pressed the delete button.)

* * *

**"You've reached the home voicemail of Vernon Dursley, senior manager at Grunnings. For business-related messages, please leave your inquiry with my secretary."**

"...Ah, so sorry for breaking up my message into more than one recordings. I was afraid you might've deleted my first message before you could hear me out... As I was saying, I'd like permission to invite your nephew to my home from July the 30th to August the 14th -"

(Petunia Dursley had once again pressed the delete button.)

* * *

**"You've reached the home voicemail of Vernon Dursley, senior manager at Grunnings. For business-related messages, please leave your inquiry with my secretary."**

"...It must be tiring for you to look after two children, especially when little Dudley still needs so much attention! Surely a small break would be nice, no? And adjusting to your nephew's circumstances must've been so overwhelming - we went though the same thing last year. Why don't we, er, talk sometime so that we can complain together, Petunia? Anyways, call me back on my home phone! This thing has to be kept strictly secret, as you understand."

* * *

It was a testament of a combination of two dentists' patience and professionalism, their expertise in coaxing children and childish people, and Olivia Granger's in depth knowledge of Petunia Dursley's love for gossip that, on July 30th, the Grangers were allowed to pull up on the driveway of 4 Privet Drive.

"Honestly," Mum admitted with a pained expression on their way there, "extracting your friend from the Dursleys is like pulling teeth!"

"Pulling their son's teeth." Dad laughed, "We've worked with loads of stubborn children, but Dudley... He kicks me every time, and he's quite strong I might add."

"Oh yes... Mrs. Dursley is most proud of him. Said he's growing up to be just like his father."

"It must've been tough on your friend Harry though," murmured Dad, "He has to put up with them, and I suspect they didn't take to magic very well."

"Many people wouldn't," Hermione hugged him from the backseat, "I'm so glad you and mum don't mind, though." Moments like these reminded her of how fortunate she was, both times, to grow up with parents she loved and respected so much. "Maybe they'll be more accepting once they talk to you, though."

"Ah, we hope so," smiled Mum, "I thought Petunia would be happy to meet someone else that knows about magic, when I first called... But judging from her reaction I'm guessing her family's afraid to be seen as abnormal because of Harry. I guess that's where we can help, to show that we can still live like ordinary people."

"Yup," Hermione teased, "just don't mention that you tried to buy a moving portrait! And you don't want to mention anything related to snakes, because Harry told me that they - er - had a _pretty_ bad experience with one."

Upon arrival, they were warily greeted by Petunia Dursley, a tall thin woman with rather long features, who eyed her suspiciously as if trying to pick out something freaky, or out of place. Hermione smiled back charmingly, knowing that she would never find any.

"Good morning, Mrs. Dursley. My name is Hermione Granger. It's a pleasure to meet you," she offered her hand, which Mrs. Dursley gingerly shook. Hermione pretended not to notice that she almost looked relieved when nothing weird happened at their contact. "Oh, mum brought you something."

"Vidal 1990," Olivia Granger proffered the bottle to her with an equally charming smile. It had been helpful that mum knew Mrs. Dursley's taste in ice wine very well, from her copious amount of gossip about her husband's business dinners. "Thought you'd like it."

The wine seemed to have fulfilled its purpose, because their hostess blushed in happy surprise and shifted her body to allow them inside. From there, Hermione knew that the battle was won. In all her past experiences with explaining magic to the select muggleborn families that didn't seem inclined to lynch their children, Salazar had always been treated like a dangerous specimen. Mum and Dad, however, can speak to the Dursleys as one of their own. It was an added bonus that both Dr. Grangers were excellent conversationalists, mum more so than dad, and exceptionally good at calming people. Soon enough, the adults were all sitting on the sofa sipping wine, while exchanging stories about how they found out about magic. Petunia confessed, a little shamefully, that they'd locked all of Harry's school things away out of fear, and that they hadn't even dared to use the word "m-magic" up to now. The last time they'd dealt with wizards was not pleasant at all, they complained. A giant man had been sent to burst down their door, for Christ's sake!

Mum and Dad gently assured them that for the most part, aside from taking their daughter to downtown London for shopping from time to time, their life hadn't changed at all. "There really isn't any cause for alarm, Petunia. We were so surprised when the lady who came for Hermione arrived through our fireplace, but I think they're just doing those things to prove to you that magic is real. Normally, magic hides itself well, she said. They're decent people, and you won't see much of them anyways."

"Wizards just live a bit differently," Hermione added when the conversation paused, as Petunia was looking a little wistful. Perhaps she was jealous of her sister? "Things they do with magic, we do with science. They never invented pencils, for example, because they can use magic to erase the ink." While the magical world had far greater potential than muggles can attain, which was why she still strongly believe that magic must be kept a secret, the living standards in the two societies were comparable. Petunia shouldn't have to feel that her sister lived a better life than her.

This cheered Petunia up significantly, enough for her to invite her nephew downstairs to sit with them. Harry was, of course, ecstatic to find Hermione here. "Sally!" He grinned, all apprehension regarding his aunt's possibly unusual niceness gone.

"Ah, still using that nickname from preschool and primary?" Mum raised an eyebrow teasingly.

"You should've expected this when you named me Hermione, mum." Hermione rolled her eyes, "None of my classmates then could pronounce it. Heck, they were going to choose something _for_ me if I don't, and that definitely won't be good."

"I like it," It seemed that Petunia had warmed up enough to pay her a compliment, for which Hermione was glad. "It's sophisticated. Much better than something common."

This launched her parents into a discussion on Shakespeare's various works, which turned out to be another common ground between them and Mrs. Dursley. Petunia adored the romances such as Romeo and Juliet. Vernon Dursley didn't care much for plays or literature, and so the conversation eventually shifted to the economy and hiring practices. At the end of the surprisingly pleasant afternoon, Hermione and Harry packed Harry's school things into the back of their trunk and waved goodbye to a _smiling_ Mrs. Dursley. "She's going to try to be nicer to you," Hermione whispered to him, "Try not to hate her too much, please?" If he was going to live with them for the next few summers as well, then his happiness depended on it.

Harry was still gaping. "She actually smiled at me! Sally, your mum and dad are brilliant!"

"We do what we can, Harry," Olivia Granger blushed, "We've known your aunt for some time, and we've gotten rather good at talking if I may say so myself."

"It also helped that Hermione briefed us on what to say and what not to say before we came," admitted Dad.

Now would be a good time to change topics. "Oh, Harry! How come you didn't reply to my letters? I almost thought I had the wrong address!"

"I didn't get any letters," Harry frowned, confused.

"That's odd... Mercury returned without the letter both times. Someone must've untied it, right?" Hermione realized that she may have to explain her owl, now that Harry was here. Mercury was the owl she'd purchased with her own gold and hidden away at the end of last summer. Her parents hadn't asked too much about it, but hopefully Harry wouldn't say much either.

If they did ask, she was still deciding between "Christmas present" and "I found it when it was injured". Now, how to distract them from the subject of her owl... "So you haven't been receiving mail from anybody at all? Maybe someone's trying to cut you off?"

"Maybe Malfoy's doing this as a joke," Harry wondered, remembering his archenemy from school. "I don't see how though."

"I've read," - and affirmed - "that ravens and falcons are good at intercepting letters." They were not always gentle with the victim owl though. _Imperio _worked better, much of the time.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Malfoy's bought a whole zoo just because he can," Harry muttered. "Er, Malfoy's this insanely rich kid from our school, Mr. Granger. He brags about it all the time,"

"Oh yeah, Harry, where do you want to go for your birthday tomorrow?" Hermione asked, reminded by the mention of zoo. "The clinic is closed tomorrow, and mum and dad said they'll have time to take us somewhere."

Harry protested, saying that they didn't need to trouble themselves, but Hermione's parents insisted. "Besides, Hermione's been cooped up all summer too," Mum said, "we wanted to take her somewhere anyways."

"Yeah!" Hermione chimed in, "If you don't choose, I'll have to choose for you, Harry." The zoo? No. Then they wouldn't be able to avoid the reptile house, and Hermione would rather that they didn't bring up the subject of snakes at all in front of Harry. The science center? She would be very happy to go there, but would Harry have the same interests?

"Well... I've always wanted to go to the beaches," Harry ventured.

"How about Lincolnshire, then?" Dad suggested. "It's close by, and it's quite beautiful."

Beaches? Beaches sounded nice... Wait. _Lincolnshire_?!

They eventually settled on a picnic at the beaches in the region now called Lincolnshire. Hermione nearly laughed at their choice of location. '_Well...'_ She looked forward to tomorrow with both curiosity and trepidation at what she might see. After all, she knew that area, and the fens adjacent to it, all too well. _Home_, for the first and last fifteen years of her first life...

"Here we are, Harry! Now, there's a boardwalk trail just to our left that we can do, and a good picnic spot just ahead. Hermione, I don't think we've gotten around to taking you here before either, so you'd probably like the nature walk... Ah, doesn't it feel so relaxing out by the beach, with the cool, fresh air blowing inland? It's all caused by the convection currents, of course..."

"Oh yes, I read about that last week, Dad," Hermione smiled and took in the familiar misty, green-gray tinted horizon before her with wide eyes. Throughout their visit, she tried not to reminisce too much, though this was far from easy. Although the landscape had certainly changed drastically, she could still vividly remember the waterlogged fields, the lapping waves within the estuary, the wooden houses of the village, the monastery far in the distance - _That _was still standing, sort of. Well, one wall of it was, and had been made a heritage site.

"Hey! The water feels amazing! Come, you kids should take off your shoes and have some fun - don't be shy! That's a good boy, Harry..."

Hermione watched her whooping dad and a giggling Harry kick water at each other. She remembered longing to splash in the water like that as a very young child, but having to stay indoors in fear of losing control of magic and being seen - accidental magic for a Slytherin can often be quite explosive, after all. She remembered riding through the fens, the horse's hooves sloshing through the wet grass. She remembered coming out to the shore sometimes on hot summer days, then having to duck away to avoid being dragged into the company of the muggle boys. She remembered talking to the snakes that lived in the vicinity, and teaching them why they should not bite unless necessary. She remembered tending to the garden of roses, that grew strong and flourished despite the leached and waterlogged soil.

And even now, she could swear she saw the shadow of a seemingly infallible stone castle just beyond the corner of her eye - Ah, who was she kidding? There was only empty grasslands there. Castle crumbled, roses wilted. No more, no less.

She'd expected as much before she came, but it was yet another crushing reminder. The once proud House Slytherin, that once seemed to stand as a bastion of the magical society, was no more. She knew she couldn't count on any of her _dear _cousins to uphold that position and descendants were out of question. She _had_ left her legacy another way, through educating the masses. Evidently, she'd failed even then...

_'But not all dead yet. Blaise, Theodore, Daphne and the others - many of them still remember our ideals to some extent. And _I'm_ still alive, miraculous as that is, am I not?'_

Upon returning to her current home, Hermione and Harry spent some time doing their summer assignments, which Harry hadn't had a chance to look at. Despite the large pile of unfinished work before him, he was grinning widely. "I've never done anything special for my birthday before. This is the best birthday ever! Well, finding out that I'm a wizard last year was brilliant too, but this is definitely right up there with it."

"Glad you're happy," Hermione smiled, concealing her distraction well. For some inexplicable reason, she had a constant feeling of being watched. Always something just beyond the corner of her eye... But why would anyone want to do that?

It was just nerves, probably. Besides, the wards she'd cast on herself while at school were still at full power, and she always kept her wand with her anyways.

Wishing Harry happy birthday again, she turned in for the night.

* * *

**AN: I thought the Grangers might try to deal with the Dursley situation nicely, rather than by threatening them. Hope that worked out...**

**Guess who the stalker is :D**


	28. Year 2: Chapter 2

Hermione was startled out of her sleep by an odd scuffling sound. It wasn't loud, and she doubted her parents would've heard a thing. She'd only noticed it because she'd always slept lightly, and because the sound was coming from the neighbouring room - Harry's room. Soundlessly, with her wand ready within her sleeve, she crept out of her room and carefully opened Harry's door.

An unkempt-looking house-elf was sitting at the foot of Harry's bed, staring at the boy with some amount of reverence. Harry seemed to have shrunk against the head of his bed, staring back with astonishment. Neither noticed her enter, even as she was standing at their side with her arms folded.

"Harry, what happened?"

"Sally!" Harry looked up, surprised. "That... That_ thing_ just appeared out of nowhere!"

"Dobby is Dobby, Harry Potter sir," the house elf pipped. "Dobby the house elf."

"Dobby," Hermione smiled at him gently. "It's good to meet you. Please tell us - quietly - why you're here?"

"Miss is kind to Dobby," the elf looked up at her gratefully, "Dobby has come to warn Harry Potter... Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts!"

"Why?" Harry yelped, alarmed. Hermione watched Dobby expectantly.

"There is a plot."

"What plot?" Harry pressed, but to his horror, Dobby began to hit his head on a lamp.

"Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby! Dobby cannot tell because master forbids, Harry Potter sir. Dobby will have to put his ears in the oven later for coming here, too, but he came anyways. Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts!"

"Your master makes you do that?" Harry exclaimed, picturing the punishment, "But that's awful!"

"No, Dobby must punish himself for disobeying his master, sir. Master usually lets Dobby carry on with it for a while. He finds it amusing - Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!" He began to hit himself again before Harry grabbed his flailing fists. "Dobby must not speak ill of his master," he explained.

"Were you about to expose your master's secrets?" Hermione asked understandingly. She had a feeling that the question "Is your master involved in the plot?" would've brought on another round of self-punishment.

Dobby nodded.

_'So his master is involved in this. His master doesn't seem to be treating him very well either.' _Not only was it morally offending, Salazar had always thought it was rather stupid of wizards to mistreat their house elves. How could they expect any loyalty from someone they abuse? How could they confidently entrust secrets to someone who despise them? How could they even feel safe eating food served by someone who would more than love to be rid of them?

"Dobby, are you able to tell us how you found out about this plot?"

Dobby shook his head. It seemed that this also concerned his master.

"Did you infer that Harry will be harmed by this plot after discovering it? Or did you know for sure?"

"Dobby guessed, Miss. But Dobby also knows for sure. All the house elves know that Harry Potter defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

_'Was that a hint?' _"So this concerns the person who you now know as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Judging from Dobby's inability to answer, that was a 'yes'.

"And you think that Harry would be safer if he does not return to Hogwarts?"

Dobby nodded again, vigorously. "Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts!"

"You think the danger is within Hogwarts, then?" Hermione prodded. "I'm not asking you to tell me. I'm just asking for your opinion."

"Dobby cannot."

Definitely a 'yes', then. "A new danger, then? Something that wasn't there last year?"

"Not exactly, miss."

And by now she had a decent idea of what that "danger" might be.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, or Voldemort, would once again attempt to open the "chamber of secrets". As if he hadn't done enough.

_'Well there's no bloody way that's going to happen again!' _But why the sudden interest in the chamber of secrets? He didn't try to go near it last year - because he was afraid to get caught before he could steal the Philosopher's Stone. But what makes him so impatient about seeing Harry dead now? It wasn't as if Harry proved himself to be such a terrible threat last year that he would be forced to fight. Shouldn't his priority still be getting his body and power back? This did not make sense.

"Dobby, do you think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will be inside Hogwarts this year?"

"Not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, miss!" Dobby said, his eyes widening as if to give them another hint.

"Then who?" Harry demanded, a bit frustrated. Anticipating another round of head-banging, Hermione asked both of them to calm down. Dobby seemed to think that Voldemort and the Chamber of secrets would be involved, but Voldemort wouldn't be doing it in person?

"Can you tell me if you think the person - no, entity you now know as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will be inside Hogwarts this year?"

"Dobby cannot, miss."

Another yes? How could he be both inside the school and not? She had thought someone would be somehow acting on his behalf - not that she had any idea how that would work either.

Unless... There were two of him? Two pieces of soul, maybe?

She could hardly believe her luck! All summer she thought she'd have to research Tom Marvolo Riddle, then hopefully find a lead on where the horcrux might be. Knowing that it would be brought into the school certainly was convenient. Of course, she still had no idea what it was, but just knowing that it would be at school helped. But who had it? Dobby's master? She wanted to ask Dobby more, but saying any else would make both Harry and the elf suspicious. But maybe she could at least find out who the master was. It had to be an old family, or else a rich one, if they had a house elf.

"Dobby, let's play a muggle game called twenty questions. Is your master male or female?"

Dobby blinked in surprise, but was fortunately able to answer.

"Ohh, does he have light coloured hair, or dark?" Harry joined in.

"Long or short?"

...

Eventually, it became quite obvious who Dobby was working for.

"Does he have a peacock at his manor?"

Dobby nodded.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. Definitely Malfoy. "Dobby, thanks for the warning, but Harry needs to go back to school. It's the only way he'd going to learn to protect himself."

"You are kind, miss... But Harry Potter must promise not to go back to Hogwarts! It's for his own good!"

"I can't!" Harry told Dobby exasperatedly, "All my friends are there!"

"Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?" Dobby said slyly, and Hermione suddenly realized where her letters went. Evidently, so did Harry, who flushed angrily.

"Hey, how do you know I haven't been getting letters - Give me back my letters!"

Harry made a grab for the letters, but Dobby simply shook his head sadly, exploded the lamp and apparated away. Five minutes later, Harry and Hermione balked at the letter from the ministry: '_Good day, Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger. One of you have been performing underage magic. This is a warning...'_

"We're not expelled, right?" Harry asked with dread.

"No," Hermione assured him. That elf sure was annoying, though... And she couldn't even tell him to back off because there was no threat! But he had helped greatly by coming here, and she was grateful for that.

"I bet Malfoy sent him as a joke," Harry muttered. "He would do that."

Apart from the first day though, Harry's stay was very uneventful. Mum and Dad needed to go to work for six days a week, and Hermione and Harry spent most of their time reading and doing homework. Harry seemed a bit bored by this, but he was saved from the monotony by the letters from their friends. Neville and Harry wished each other a belated happy birthday, since their previous letters obviously never reached their intended recipients. Theo was surprised to hear that a house elf had been stopping his letters, and wondered why someone would do that. Daphne confirmed that Malfoy was the only one who invested in peacocks, for Merlin-knew-why. Blaise hoped Harry was having fun at Sal's house, and declared that he'd been trying one of the easy melodies from the Nocturne repertoire Sal had sent him despite the "no magic" rule. ("They can't tell if you're doing magic when you live in a magical household," Hermione explained. "Oh, that reminds me. I found this book on Nocturnes - magical music, that is - in a second-hand shop, and we thought it would be nice to learn. I made a copy for you too...")

And Ron confessed that he and his brothers had been hatching a plan to come and check on Harry if there was still no reply to his next letter. Harry and Hermione thought it was touching.

They'd also received their Hogwarts letter, and were surprised to see that the booklist was twice as long as last year. It turned out that half of the required readings were written by a wizard named Gilderoy Lockhart - apparently accounts of his adventures. Interesting character, Lockhart.

On the last day of Harry's stay, Mum and Dad dropped them off at Diagon Alley on their way to the clinic. It would be better not to ask the Dursleys to do it - they didn't want to push them too far. While Harry went to visit his Gringott vault, Hermione altered her appearance slightly before approaching the teller herself. "Good morning Griphook," she smiled, noticing how the goblin once again stiffened at the sight of her key, "I need to visit my vault, please."

She believed she heard him mutter "Of course, Slytherin," under his breath, but smiled innocently and didn't comment. She didn't need much from the vault this time - only three books that pertained to Horcruxes, which she carefully hid in one of the concealed inner compartments of her bottomless bag. Then she bid Griphook good day, and slipped away into Knocturne Alley. The peddlers once again started to leer at her, but a cold look of warning was enough to keep most of them from being bothersome. The shop owner of Borgin and Burkes snapped his head up to meet her eyes, the moment she opened his door. "Why, hello again, Knocturne Girl."

"How did you know it was me last time?" She was wearing a different disguise, after all.

"Your manner of ... dealing with people is rather unique. We hardly see children here in the first place. And whenever we catch sight of one, they're either quivering with fear or swaggering around and boasting of their fathers." He sneered slightly as he finished. Hermione wondered if the Malfoys had been here not long ago.

"Anyone with a decent brain should've remembered you. It's a pity that this can't be said for those useless fools, though," he glanced out the window with distain, chuckling darkly. "I still find it hard to accept that we have to share a street with them... Anyways. Usually I don't waste time on entertaining children, but you're an interesting one, Knocturne Girl. You're welcome to look around."

She could see he was trying to figure out who her parents might be, but one of the biggest rules in Knockturne Alley seemed to be, "Don't ask questions." Nodding, she examined the rather intriguing collection of items in the shop, well aware that Mr. Borgins was taking this opportunity to watch her. The enchantment of items is especially useful for practitioners of the Dark arts, as it saves them the trouble of casting an tricky or dangerous spell more than once. In a way, it was risk reduction. Why risk botching a spell more than you need to - and this could potentially be disastrous with the dark arts - when you could cast it successfully once and allow your children's children to use it again and again?

Unfortunately, Arthur Weasley's new law, the way it was currently written, discouraged the enchantment of items. No doubt this would've made many old families very angry. Judging from the pile of items on the counter that seemed to be "new arrivals", the ministry was conducting raids as well. Knocturne Alley truly was a good reflection of the Dark Arts today: shoved into the shadows, underrepresented and under-regulated, but still surviving. Repressing a sigh, she left Mr. Borgins and returned to the sunny main street.

She met Harry, who'd brought the Weasley children along with him, in Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour at the pre-arranged time. Apparently they'd spent their whole morning waiting in line at Flourish and Blotts because Lockhart was signing books. Of course, this was before Lockhart spotted Harry and pulled him onstage despite his protests. Following this, Ron's dad got into a spectacular fist fight with Mr. Malfoy because of the new law, which ultimately resulted in all of them getting tossed out of the store.

"Is your dad ok?" Hermione asked with concern, secretly wishing that she'd been there for this last part. She'd wanted to see how Mr. Malfoy lost his temper enough to fight like a muggle.

"Just a black eye," Ron scooped at his ice cream. "So where have you been?"

"Around," Hermione gestured vaguely.

When everyone acquired all their school things, Hermione's parents returned Harry to his aunt and uncle's house. Mrs. Dursley, Hermione was happy to see, gave him a tiny smile in greeting. Harry smiled back slightly shakily in return. And the Grangers beamed, knowing that his summer would be a little more enjoyable from here on.

"See you on the train, Harry!"


	29. Year 2: Chapter 3

But somehow she didn't see Harry, and Ron for that matter, on the train, despite looking up and down the carriages for them.

_'Were they on the train at all?'_ Hermione thought as she listened to Parvati and Lavender fawn over a large poster of Lockhart, their idol. Perhaps the elf, Dobby, actually did something? She appreciated his tenacity, though she dearly wished he would scale back on his efforts.

The professors would sort the problem out once they arrive, of course.

"And he'd announced that he's going to be our professor!" Parvati squealed, "He's done all these great things!"

Who? Lockhart? No wonder half the booklist consisted of his work.

"He sure didn't get the Witch Weekly Best Smiles Award for nothing," Lavender sighed dreamily.

"Oh yes, these are some adventures he had," Hermione agreed. She'd skimmed through the Lockhart books quickly to find out what he was like. His accomplishments were something to be proud of, as they did require some level of skills and cleverness. On top of that, the man certainly wrote good stories, and he certainly wasn't shy on praising himself. His expertise seemed to center around magical creatures, though that was a rather broad field in itself. She didn't know how good he was at duelling. His adventures didn't seem to involve encountering any conflicts with other wizards.

The Lockhart in the poster smiled toothily and winked at the girls. Lavender blushed and looked as if she might swoon.

"Just how famous is he in the magical world?" Hermione asked.

"Oh! Sometimes I forget you're a muggleborn," Parvati realized, then promptly started gushing happily. "He's a household name in England. Everybody knows him and his books! My mum adores him!"

"I can see why," Hermione smiled, knowing that she was expected to say something but not wanting to encourage them any further. If this was what she'd have to put up with in the girls' dorms from now on -

Lavender was about to say something, but was interrupted by the arrival of the food trolley. Hermione bought an amply amount of chocolate frogs, remembering how popular those were. Now stocked with sweets, Lavender and Parvati settled back into their seat to talk about Lockhart. Hermione excused herself to find Neville when it became clear that they weren't likely to talk about anything else any time soon. Hopefully he'd want to play chess.

Harry and Ron weren't at the welcoming feast either - it seemed that they definitely hadn't made it on to the train. But she didn't give them much thought at the moment, because the Sorting Hat had been brought out. Like always, its rim opened up:

"Sir Gryffindor liked jokes, Lady Hufflepuff liked songs,

and Lady Ravenclaw preferred subtle clues

But Lord Slytherin wished me to speak plainly,

and it's about time I do.

...

Hogwarts has four houses,

for four particular types of personalities

But each has a place in the world,

and each house its own glory.

...

Daring Gryffindor,

for the bold and brave

For you who want excitement,

and a life full of adventures.

...

Thoughtful Ravenclaw,

for the wise and studious

For a life seeking knowledge,

for whom knowledge is the greatest treasure.

...

Kind Hufflepuff,

for the content and happy

For a calm, peaceful life,

free of pain or misery.

...

Cunning Slytherin,

for the ambitious and competent

For you who want improvement, advancement,

and will do what it takes to make it happen.

...

So put me on, don't be afraid!

and I'll tell you where you best belong

But remember that we must all be friends

for united we are strong."

There was applause all around, as well as some whispering among the older students. "That was a little unusual," Percy whispered to Hermione, who sat beside him, "Less trivia, more informative."

"If that's called speaking plainly, then Shakespeare's sonnets are news reports," Hermione muttered.

"That's as plain as it gets, I guess," Percy shrugged, "I do wonder what happened to my brother. I hope he hasn't gotten himself into detention before school's even started."

"I haven't seen him either," Hermione agreed. "It's a pity he's going to miss all this, and Ginny's sorting."

Soon enough, the little red-haired girl joined them at the Gryffindor table. She was very excited to be at school and with her brothers, though she looked a little disappointed that Harry was not at the table. Hermione wished Ginny didn't ask so many questions about him. It was beginning to remind her of Lavender and Lockhart.

Speaking of their new Defence professor, the man was currently wearing an flamboyant gold set of robes and seated at the High Table. He seemed to be taking especial care to show off his sparkling white teeth, and winking at the female students around the hall. The professors didn't look very happy with him, though. Hermione wondered if he'd had some sort of a history while he was at school... Or maybe they felt they were being trotted on?

After dinner, Hermione and the others returned to the common room, where they found Ron and Harry. It turned out that as Percy feared, they_ had_ gotten themselves detention already. And for flying and crashing Mr. Weasley's enchanted car, no less.

Hermione liked Mr. Weasley as a person, for the short time she'd seen him, but she thought he was being rather hypocritical. He was telling others they can't own enchanted objects, yet he had an enchanted _flying_ car the whole time?

Ron also managed to break his wand, and both of them nearly got killed by the whomping willow. Hermione started to demand why they couldn't just wait for a professor to come and collect them, but apparently they'd already been lectured once by McGonagall, so she relented. Instead, she advised Ron to buy another wand soon, since his old one was pretty much useless now. The other Gryffindors didn't see a problem with their mode of arrival, though. They cheered and clapped the boys on the back for making such a spectacular entrance.

Once everyone had calmed down a bit, and Percy had stormed off to write to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley about what happened to the car, Hermione and Neville told Harry and Ron about the sorting and the hat's song. Ron clearly still wasn't used to this description of the four houses, but nodded in acceptance. Hermione smiled. The hat was still talking in rhymes, but at least now no house should be thought daft or bad by default.

Finally, Hermione went upstairs to the girls dormitories, where Parvati and Lavender were indeed discussing Lockhart and outlining his classes on their time tables in little hearts. She resolutely shut her curtains and went to sleep.

The next day, a large portion of the student body (predominantly female) could be seen admiring Professor Lockhart and asking him for autographs, which he graciously bestowed upon them. The exceptions were Ginny and a first-year named Collin Creevy, who directed the same sort of attention toward Harry instead, to her friend's embarrassment. The great Gilderoy Lockhart, however, turned out to be a bit of a dolt. He began the first class by passing out a ridiculously long "little quiz" about himself. ("What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?") Hermione answered as well as she could, of course, and ended up getting a solid "2 out of 54". She couldn't have cared less.

Then the idiot let loose a cage of extremely annoying but by no means "dangerous" Cornish pixies, and actually had to flee the classroom because of them. The spell he'd invented, "peskipiksi pesternomi", did absolutely nothing, yet somehow he still dared to try to show it off. Lazily flicking her wand to freeze the pixies, Hermione wondered how a man like that could even survive any one of his conquests. Were they even real? Or was it all fiction?

Ron and Harry and all of the professors were openly disgusted by Lockhart, who miraculously didn't notice any of it. Blaise, Theo, and Daphne were much less vocal about the new Defence professor, but one could tell from their frequent snide comments about how his "'Travels with Trolls' must've turned him into their intellectual equal" (Daphne's words) that they didn't like him one bit. Hermione also noted proudly, and a bit enviously, that there were significantly fewer Lockhart fangirls at the Slytherin table than at the other houses.

"Either he's very good at making things up," they'd concluded during one of their library meetings, "or he's stealing other people's work. There's no way he did all these things he said he did."

"And he said he got a, what? Order of Merlin, 3rd class? For his accomplishments? Shame..."

"So who's re-enacting his werewolf stories in your class?" Harry asked, rolling his eyes.

"Goyle," Blaise smirked, "At least the class's entertaining, if it can't be instructional. What about in your class? Don't tell me he makes you do it?"

"Guilty as charged," Harry grumbled, "And the dolt thinks he's doing me a favour, too. He even wants me to answer his fanmails for detention!"

"Now that is truly awful," Daphne patted him on the back sympathetically, "but at least you'll learn not to be reckless next time." They didn't talk about the Weasleys' car. It would make more than one person unhappy, one way or another.

"He's going to make me play vampire next. I think I should bite him for dramatic effects," Harry mused.

Theodore considered that, before shaking his head. "Nah...Trolls can't taste too good."

They left the library with barely contained laughter, amid some not-exactly-well wishing hypothesizing of the scenario for Lockhart's early departure. So far, they ranged from fleeing the mayhem of the castle in the middle of the night to a humiliating public dismissal in the Great Hall at breakfast, which seemed to be Blaise's personal favourite.

The next morning, Hermione would quickly come to appreciate that Lockhart hadn't been fired as Blaise had been fantasizing the afternoon prior.

Something much more...fortuitous happened instead.


	30. Year 2: Chapter 4

Hermione went down to the Great Hall early in the morning as usual, book in hand, and was surprised to see that Ginny was also there, book in hand. She had a quill and an inkwell with her, and seemed to be making notes.

"Hi Ginny," Hermione greeted the younger girl warmly, "what are you reading?" Very few people woke up this early. So far, they and Percy were the only occupants of the Gryffindor table. Percy was currently sitting at the other end of the long table, head buried in his copy of the Prophet.

"Nothing," Ginny said a little too quickly, hurriedly shutting her the black book she was holding. In doing so, however, she allowed Hermione to see something that made her heart skip a beat.

On the corner of the front cover there was a name: _T. M. Riddle._

"Not many people get up this early," Hermione said, distracting Ginny. Acting quickly, she wandlessly made a duplicate of the book beneath it and disillusioned the real one. Then, without moving a muscle, she levitated the now invisible book toward her. "It's pretty lonely here at this hour. I like to read over my notes for the day's classes before breakfast, but most people prefer to sleep in. Especially Ron."

Ginny snorted, putting away what she thought was her black book before it could draw more attention. "Yeah, _especially_ Ron. He wouldn't get up until the sun's tanning his backside!"

Though she wanted nothing more than to examine Tom Marvolo Riddle's book immediately, Hermione placed her transfiguration text over it and read normally - well, appeared to read normally. The words were hardly registering. When an allowable amount of time had passed, she packed both books together into her bag and made a quick trip to the "Chamber of Secrets" that Riddle was so ironically determined to open. There, she removed the disillusionment and flipped through the book carefully. It was completely blank, and seemingly just another empty diary. The name of the owner and a superficial magical test, however, said otherwise.

This was the horcrux. And the enchantments that had been cast on it matched the theory that Voldemort had wanted his soul to possess, or else facilitate, someone to continue the work he'd started 50 years ago.

Hermione stood in the grand entrance hall of the chamber, thinking. Her first thought was to ask Esmeralda to destroy it immediately, but then she would be wasting an opportunity. She could learn something about Tom Marvolo Riddle, or Voldemort through this. Besides, how often would she get the chance to study, let alone experiment with, an actual, proper horcrux?

It would be better to keep the diary safe for the time being. Carefully, she permanently transfigured some parchment into a chest and deposited the diary inside. She then sealed the chest with various locking charms, warded it against spell damage and soundproofed it, before sticking the chest to the floor of the entrance hall in a corner. Even though she doubted the horcrux could hear or see, there was no way she was letting her "heir" into the chamber's interior.

Time to go to class, then? There was still a little bit of time before Defence Against the Dark Arts with the dolt.

_'Wait. Come to think of it...'_

Hermione steepled her fingers.

_'That gives me an idea.'_

* * *

"Good morning class! Today's lesson is about my book, Voyage with the Vampires. We'll be having another little skit, of course. Harry will, of course, help me demonstrate..."

Gilderoy Lockhart flashed his dazzling, award-winning, trademark smile around the class. He noticed, with great satisfaction, that Miss Pavarti and Miss Lavender sighed contently. Ah, yes, the world simply _adored _him. But of course, why shouldn't they? He was Gilderoy Lockhart, after all! Chuckling lightly at this, Gilderoy awarded the girls with a roguish wink.

Inside though, even he, Gilderoy Lockhart, couldn't help but feel a little nervous. When he agreed to take the teaching position at Hogwarts, it had been out of necessity. Well, sure, he didn't need the salary - why would he? His lovely fans would probably gift him anything he needed! And he would the graciously decline them, of course, saying that while he appreciated that they loved him, he was already well provided for, and they should try to take care of themselves more. And he wasn't that concerned about money, anyways. He lived off the attention, the _love_ that his fans sent...

But he hadn't found a single lead for a good potential story these past years. The brilliant Gilderoy Lockhart couldn't be seen to sit around and do nothing, could he? He had to do something great to occupy his time until he could have another adventure. And what better to do than to devote his time to teaching at one of the best magical schools in the world, to help the next generation of young witches and wizards become almost nearly as great as himself? Especially since he would be tutoring Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived?

Except, now that he was here, the students actually want him to show them something useful, which was such a headache. He'd brought in those pixies, but those demented creatures simply made a mess of his beautiful class room and, more importantly, his portraits. It was a disaster! But what should he teach now? His stories should be enthralling enough, right? Why, of course they would be! He could see Miss Pavarti and Miss Lavender sitting on the edge of their seats, leaning forward and hanging onto his every word as he described how the Armenian wizard - how _he _froze the frightful vampire with a single spell - "Yes, that's it, Harry. That snarl was perfect," - and claimed victory! And though she was in the back of the class, Miss Hermione's eyes never left his face! He awarded all three girls his stunning smile for their attentiveness. Miss Pavarti and Miss Lavender blushed and giggled. Miss Hermione gave him an angelic smile in return - not as beautiful as his own, of course, but she certainly had potential.

But unfortunately, being the ever-perceptive man that he was, Gilderoy couldn't help but notice Mr. Finnigan and Mr. Thomas rolling their eyes at him, or Mr. Weasley yawning in the back. Well, perhaps he was being too suspecting. He must keep an open mind. He must try not to suffer the pain of overthinking and suspicion that comes with great intelligence! But still, what could he teach, if not his stories? Demonstrations were out of question - he would not suffer another round of the pixie disaster! And unfortunately, not all the students seemed to be interested in the skits. Perhaps Harry's acting skills needed work?

Gilderoy sighed. The boy still had a very long way to go. But then again, he couldn't expect everyone to be as perfect as himself!

When class ended, some of the students leapt out of their chairs and dashed out the door - too intimidated by the company of one so great as himself, he suspected, poor things. Others (such as Miss Pavarti and Miss Lavender) walked out slowly, hoping to be near him for as long as they could. Miss Hermione stayed behind, even when all her classmates had left.

_'Oh dear,' _Gilderoy chuckled to himself, _'hopefully the poor dear doesn't ask for something I can't give!'_

"Professor," she began, "I hope I'm not taking up too much of your time, but..."

"Yes, my dear?" Gilderoy smiled, gently so that she would not be frightened. He ought to appear approachable, to all his fans.

"I found this empty book - it looks like a diary. But when I write something in it, it disappears! And I didn't know what to make of it, so I thought, 'I should give it to Professor Lockhart! He would know how it works, and what to do with it!'"

"Oh yes," Gilderoy was flattered by her faith in him, "you made the right decision to come to me, Miss Hermione. 5 points to Gryffindor! This diary could have some very dangerous spells on it, and should be carefully handled by someone who knows what they're doing... like myself!"

"Oh, thank you, sir!"

Gilderoy smiled after her, but more at himself, as she left his classroom, before contemplating the book on his desk. It was rather old looking, but still in good condition. And the elegant patterning on its spine certainly made up for its age. So intricate, so fancy...

On a whim, Gilderoy took out his lilac ink pot and his special peacock feather quill. He opened the book to the first page and signed, in large, fancy, loopy letters, _'Gilderoy Lockhart'_.

To his surprise and slight disappointment (that was a beautiful signature!), his writing disappeared. A moment later, another line of writing, in black ink, appeared. The writing was even, gently sloping, somewhat forceful yet still languid, with an elegant flourish that made Gilderoy slightly jealous - but only slightly of course. It was hardly as rounded, hardly as exuberant, and definitely nowhere as eye-catching as his own.

Either way, it was definitely not his own handwriting.

_'Hello, Gilderoy Lockhart,' _it read.

_'I am Salazar Slytherin.'_

* * *

**AN: and Lockhart carefully handles a potentially dangerous object by signing it :P**

**Originally I wanted Ginny to try opening the chamber first (and then Esmeralda and Myrtle would inform Sally, who would easily break into her dorm and steal the diary), but I thought it would be better if this chapter could happen as soon as possible.**

**Big plans for Lockhart up ahead :D**


	31. Year 2: Chapter 5

"Good morning, class!" The dolt, dressed in lilac today, beamed down at them with his obnoxious grin.

_'Good morning my arse,' _thought Blaise as he sat down beside Daphne. Since they were all Slytherins, his classmates took their seats with either an arrogant sneer (Malfoy), a polite smile (Daphne) or a blank expression like the one he was currently wearing himself. On the inside though, he knew they were all thinking the same thing - with some exceptions such as Crabbe and Goyle, of course. He still hadn't figured out whether they could think.

"Now, I promised you we would talk about my Year with the Yeti today, but then I realized, 'We can't just spend the whole year talking about me!'"

_'Oh good,'_ Blaise almost snorted out loud, _'He's going to resign, then?'_

"I know! I know! Such a disappointment..." Lockhart actually pouted. Blaise thought he couldn't have described himself better just now. "But you can learn about me on your own time! Today, we must talk about..."

Oh his right, Blaise saw Daphne raise an eyebrow. Where was Lockhart going with this?

"... the Dark Arts." And he wrote these three words in big, flowery letters on the blackboard.

The nerve of the dolt! Blaise slid forward in his seat, wondering what this buffoon thought _he_ could teach them about the dark arts. If he thought _pixies _were dangerous -

"So," Lockhart glanced around, before checking his notes, "What do you think the dark arts is?"

This was not a question that any Slytherin would give a serious or truthful answer to. It was too sensitive. And thus, Blaise was not surprised that the entire class had stayed silent.

"Not pixies," Pansy Parkinson smirked.

Lockhart frowned a little at that, but then grinned toothily and continued. "True, Miss Pansy. But now for a serious definition..." He checked his notes again, before starting to write on the board. "Simply put, the dark arts is a collective name for magic with high potential - both constructive and destructive. Since they cannot be used lightly, on a daily basis, the dark arts are studied and used far less frequently than other magic. This creates a notion of mysteriousness around them, hence the name 'dark'."

Had he read wrong? Blaise blinked at the board. Around the room, he saw his classmates glance at each other in surprise while trying not to react too much. _This _was not something they'd expected to hear from anyone, much less so the lilac-clad dolt! Maybe someone was polyjuicing as Lockhart? Apart from the fact that he was now worth listening to, Lockhart's speech still sounded the same. The vanity, the way he emphasized certain words with his body language, the way he managed to show off his teeth while he talked, was all there. Was there something Blaise was not understanding, or had he somehow misjudged their defence professor? But how could that be?

"Ever since the 13th century, people have feared its potential to harm - and rightly so - and have attempted to ban their usage. However, as much as they try, they could not. Because without potential, we can accomplish nothing."

These words were met by attentive silence. Though he didn't look around, Blaise was sure that every single pair of eyes in the room were focused at the front of the room. Lockhart revelled in the attention, of course, and continued.

"There are two main types of potential. The first kind is power - and you'll find that any spell, potion or ritual that uses a large amount of magic is considered dark. And we're not talking about potion-class-explosions scale of power," he wagged a finger at them for emphasis, "We're talking about enough power to keep tonnes of water circulating through a castle's plumbing steadily. We're talking about enough power to excavate a common room under a lake, and to fortify the windows to sustain under the water pressure. We're talking about enough power to build and maintain a magical school, and protect it from a thousand years worth of weather and spell damage."

The class gaped. Even if Lockhart hadn't paused for dramatic effect, the impact of what the statement implied was enough. "Sir," Tracy Davis raised her hand uncertainly, "Are you saying that Hogwarts was..."

"Oh yes, this very school we're sitting in was built by dark magic," Lockhart assured her, thoroughly enjoying the small gasps around the class. "Think about what would happen if, for example, the spell used to push the water in the pipes was used to crush a room full of people! You are safe here, of course - there are other spells in place to ensure that no one can enter the pipes. And _I_ will protect all my students from harm, in any case. But if the same spell _had_ been used for evil, the effect would be quite terrible."

Blaise and Daphne nodded. He'd suspected something like this before, like many others probably, but had known better than to discuss it. Just from watching his classmates attack Slytherin's book, he'd noticed that dark spells (which he didn't recognize) were generally more powerful than the legal ones (which he did recognize). If Salazar Slytherin was a dark wizard, and dark arts were more powerful, of course he would choose the more effective option. But since the magical society would be devastated if they closed down Hogwarts, it was no wonder that people weren't too keen on investigating the castle.

But he would consider that later. Lockhart was starting to write again. "The other kind of potential is control. Who can think of one spell that falls into this category?"

"Imperio," said Theo from the row behind Blaise.

"Very good," Lockhart beamed - though that wasn't saying much, since he was always beaming. "5 points to Slytherin! Imperio controls the mind - very useful for turning away a troll or a werewolf without anyone getting hurt - yes, I know, I dealt with them differently. But I assure you, there are more than one best way of doing things. On the other hand, it can strip away a person's free will and theoretically bind them as a puppet forever."

Blaise suddenly wondered whether someone was mind-controlling Lockhart to make him teach better?

"Another dark spell in this category, and this one is less obvious, is Crucio - the spell that allows you to control exactly how much pain your subject feels. But please don't make the mistake of thinking that crucio can only be used to torture someone to insanity!"

"But sir," asked Pansy Parkinson, "They say Crucio only works if you really mean for someone to get hurt." Blaise thought it was a bit careless of her to say that, as it could've gotten someone into big trouble. Fortunately, Lockhart didn't seem to care.

"The subject of the crucio curse will feel exactly how much pain you will them to feel. If you don't mean for them to get hurt, then what would they feel?"

"Nothing?" Blaise realized. "So the curse would still work. It's just that _some people_... define 'work' differently?"

"Precisely," Lockhart gave him a smile that would've made him feel proud - if it wasn't from Lockhart, that is - before glancing down at his notes again. "Another 5 points to Slytherin! On that topic, what do you think is the best thing you can do for your friend, if someone is torturing him with Crucio? Assuming that you're not in a position to attack the torturer?"

"Cast crucio on him too, and will him to feel nothing?" Theo ventured.

"Exactly," Lockhart awarded 5 more points to Slytherin. "And what do you think is the best thing you can do for yourself, if someone is torturing you?"

"The same thing?" Daphne guessed, "Crucio yourself?"

Lockhart looked up from his notes. "That usually won't turn out well. Most people cannot imagine themselves feeling complete bliss while they're under excruciating pain, so you'd probably end up amplifying the effect. The best thing to do is to somehow force your opponent to end the spell as soon as possible... But what do you think is the worst possible thing you can do for yourself, if someone is torturing you with Crucio?"

The class needed a moment to think about this.

"Never, ever, torture your torturer back," Lockhart eventually revealed. "Any pain you inflict on them will echo into their curse, and theirs into yours. Before long, both of you won't even have enough sanity left to break away... Now, as you know, Crucio and Imperio are both classified as Unforgivable curses by the ministry. Unless during extenuating circumstances, casting either of them on a human will earn you a life sentence in Azkaban."

"Sir," asked Tracy Davis, "what about the third Unforgivable? Which category is that?"

"Uh..." Lockhart glance at his notes. "Ah, I was just getting to that. It's neither, actually. I suppose it's considered dark simply because it's highly effective at causing death, through instantaneously separating the soul from the body. In addition, I can't see any other uses for it, apart from killing."

"It can only be used for evil, then?" Blaise wondered.

"That depends on whether killing is evil, Mr. Zabini."

Right.

At then end of the class, Lockhart dismissed them with a cheery wave as usual while posing against his desk, and the students filed out of the room in their usual orderly fashion. Blaise, Theo, and Daphne glanced at each other, before following their classmates out and heading to the library where Sal and Harry were waiting for them a bit impatiently. "Did you have Lockhart's class yet?" Harry demanded as soon as he saw them.

"I'll have to process all this for a while," Daphne said quietly, "That lesson was just... wow."

"Lockhart's definitely different," Harry nodded, "do you think it's polyjuice or mind control? Or did he suddenly get smarter overnight? I mean, when he first started talking about dark arts my class thought he went completely loony, but by the end of it... If this is really him, I think I might even start to respect him!"

"Imperio doesn't look like that, right?"

"And if it's polyjuice," Daphne considered, "then the impersonator would have to be a very good actor."

They were thoughtful for a moment. "You know," Sal said, "I rather like how things are right now."

"I agree," Blaise nodded, "I'll take anything over another lesson on Lockhart's life." In Slytherin, that would be something like a code for "let's stop investigating". They seemed to be rubbing off on her.

* * *

What happened with Lockhart was simple really, Hermione thought as she closed the "transfiguration textbook" that lay in front of her, and discreetly packed away the invisible quill that she'd been wandlessly directing to write on it on when she needed to. All it took were two plain notebooks enchanted to reflect each other's writing - a form of two-way parchment, sort of. One book was then transfigured to look like something that might belong to Salazar or Lockhart, and the other illusioned to read like a textbook for anyone but her. Yesterday, after defence class, she'd written in her copy of the book...

_'Hello, Gilderoy Lockhart. I am Salazar Slytherin.' _Several surprised blobs of lilac ink appeared at this. Lockhart's expression must've been hilarious, she'd imagined.

Chuckling, she'd continued,

_'I have been told some things about you. Let us make a deal, Gilderoy, shall we?' _

A moment later, uncharacteristically shaky lilac ink had replied: _'What kind of deal?'_

Erasing Lockhart's writing, she continued,_ 'I believe in mutual benefits. You do not want to look like a' _\- here she'd almost written "dolt", but checked herself in time - _'professor who teaches nothing, and I do not want my students to learn nothing. In addition, we both want a good reputation._

_'Here is my proposal. I will provide you with a lesson plan each day, and I will allow you to pass the knowledge off as your own. This should be new information for all seven years, so you will be able to use roughly the same lesson plan for all of your classes. In fact, I dare say you will be hailed a genius revolutionary, since no one has been taught the things you will teach since very long ago. If anyone discovers this book, they will assume it is your own notes, and I will not write back to them. If a student asks a question you do not know the answer to, you will "write it down so that you can remember to discuss it after class", and I will provide you with the answer._

_'However, you will teach exactly what I tell you to teach, and you will discourage slandering of me, my house, or something related to me. If you break this agreement, and I have my way of knowing things, the deal is off and you will be on your own for the rest of your tenure. Is that agreeable?'_

She'd hardly finished before Lockhart had written a _'Yes'_.

_'Good,' _she'd smirked, _'I look forward to working with you, Gilderoy.' _She had Voldemort to thank for the inspiration - both the "use a book to make someone do your bidding" part and the "use the defence professor as puppet" part. And though she didn't particularly want a buffoon to act as the champion of the dark arts, Gilderoy Lockhart was the perfect marionette because he had no problem with acting, and was simple enough to control - not too stupid and not too clever. Since it was early in the year, he also still had a salvageable reputation and would be listened to. Then there was the mutual benefit - Lockhart can keep on pretending to be great, for the time being, and she would have an avenue of clarifying the misconceptions around the dark arts somewhat.

Hermione was glad her friends liked the lesson. She actually looked forward to Lockhart's classes, now.

Of course, Lavender and Pavarti would be more Lockhart-crazy than ever, but that was a small price to pay.

* * *

**AN: The "Diary" that Hermione gave to Lockhart wasn't Riddle's diary. Lockhart thinks it's Slytherin's diary (technically true) :P **

**Riddle's diary is still in a locked chest on Sally's floor**


	32. Year 2: Chapter 6

"Ah, Gilderoy, we've been waiting to talk to you all day!"

Like always, Gilderoy Lockhart strolled into the staff lounge, arms spread, as if expecting excited gasps or admiration. For once, Minerva thought, he was actually met with anything close.

"We've heard much about your - er- radical new curriculum," Filius informed him, "The students are very excited for your classes." Indeed, the Gryffindor common room had been buzzing with discussions. One half of them expressed wonder that dark arts can be used for good. So far, Minerva had caught snippets of conversations such as "Hogwarts is built with dark arts", "there is no fundamental difference between a jinx and an anti-jinx", "often, the most effective defence against the dark arts is also dark", and "Death Eaters have been using crucio wrong".

The other half consisted primarily of the girls shouting "I told you so" to the boys, most of whom didn't have a very high opinion of their defence professor before. Now, the popular opinion among her students was split between that Gilderoy had deliberately started out dull to throw off some kind of suspicion, or that Gilderoy was not the same person as the - dare she say "dolt"? - who taught them a day ago.

Even Albus had been surprised. Minerva suspected he'd only hired Gilderoy because no one else would accept the job because of some ridiculous rumoured curse. Minerva strongly doubted that curses worked like that, but apparently the rest of the world didn't see it like that.

And now that Gilderoy had started teaching students that dark arts was not evil, but simply dangerous, Albus had become visibly worried. It wasn't that he thought Gilderoy was wrong or lying - After hearing the shocking rumours, the professors had asked the headmaster to verify them. Albus had rather gravely confirmed that every bit of Gilderoy's lesson was true, but did not elaborate when prompted by Severus. He did seem uneasy about Gilderoy promoting this view somehow, though he didn't try to stop the lessons. He'd wondered whether Gilderoy might be possessed, like poor Quirinus last year, but they'd arrived at the conclusion that it wouldn't benefit Voldemort at all to criticize his own use (or misuse, as Gilderoy called it) of the dark arts.

Minerva somehow suspected that there was more to Albus's reaction than this, but once again, he'd refused to elaborate.

"Congratulations," said Severus carefully, "I must say, I was not expecting this - er - sudden change in course plan. How did this come about, if I may ask?"

"Ah," Gilderoy grinned at him in his trademark fashion, "I merely realized that I could give the students more, since of course they would've read all my books already! I can use this opportunity to teach them about a topic that no one had dared to touch for - oh a good number of centuries now. It's a bold move, of course, but Gilderoy Lockhart is always up for a challenge when it comes to showing our next generation an important truth."

"How did you develop such a view on the dark arts, Gilderoy? It's not something we hear everyday."

"I've seen many things during my travels, Pomona," Gilderoy replied solemnly. "And with as much experience as I, one can't help being more - er - enlightened than most."

Normally even someone as gentle as Pomona would've frowned at this, Minerva thought, but today she ignored the slight. "Then perhaps you can help us resolve a small discussion we had sometime last year. Weren't we talking about whether this hatred we have for dark arts might be based on fear and a lack of understanding?"

"Oh yes, I remember that," Minerva nodded, "wasn't it something Cuthbert brought up?"

"Was it?" the ghostly professor looked up, "I might've said something I suppose. Can't remember what, though."

"Anyways," Filius prompted eagerly, "do you have an opinion on this, Gilderoy?"

"Well," Gilderoy leaned back into his chair comfortably, as if he was being interviewed by the press. "As I told my students, the dark arts is simply the name we give for highly potent magic. Damage done by dark arts can be hundredfold greater, and hundredfold more permanent, than other spells. However, it can also do a hundredfold more good than any other magic. In fact, I dare say if you want a piece of magic to last centuries, you'll have to use dark arts. Unfortunately, due to the great difficulty in wielding so much potential, not everyone feel it's worth the trouble to learn."

"And eventually, people became too horrified by the catastrophes, and decided to outlaw dark arts altogether?" Asked Pomona. "If that's the case, then dark arts is not evil. But won't we all be safer without it? Why do some people insist on keeping it alive if it's so dangerous?"

"Because it's effective, perhaps?" Severus shrugged.

Pomona frowned, clearly unhappy with that sentiment. "But we're still going to discourage students from studying dark arts, right?"

"Actually, the best way to defend yourself against a spell is by understanding how it works - take the cruciatus and imperius curse, for example," Gilderoy interjected, "The students had no idea what they actually targeted, and their attempts at defence would be counterproductive! Fortunately, _I_ will be teaching them the theory behind some of the more commonly known branches of dark spells."

"At least it'll help them understand what was being thrown at their families during the last war," Minerva nodded, "and if they can see that the spells are stoppable, it might make them feel better." She remembered the death of numerous aurors and Order members all too well. Poor Gideon and Fabian, Frank and Alice...

"And while I won't encourage my students to use dark spells - so you can relax, Pomona," said Severus, "One must admit that the best defence to dark spells is usually also dark. If someone cast fiendfyre at you, for example, you can try to cast an impossibly strong shield charm. Or, you can push it back using a dark but much more manageable water-based spell. Just something to keep in mind,"

"As a fellow duellist, I second that," pipped Filius, "I think Wilbert Slinkhart said something like that, too. Except he was trying to argue the other way - he thinks no offensive spells should be used at all, jinx or counterjinx. Personally, I'm not sure if the things he advocates for are practical."

"Ah yes, about duelling," Minerva remembered, "Albus has asked us whether we would be able to start a duelling club. It'll help students gain practical experience." It was originally meant to compensate for the lack of a competent Defence professor. Minerva thought this was a good idea still. It was only a bonus that Gilderoy turned out to be... much better than they'd expected. "Perhaps Filius and Severus could lead this?"

"Ah," Gilderoy beamed, "Duelling club! I'd be happy to give a pointer or two as well, of course."

Minerva, and the rest of her colleagues she saw, looked at Gilderoy critically. A day ago, they would've laughed him out of the arena. But now... well, they would see. At least it would shed some light on Gilderoy's newfound (?) expertise, and Filius and Severus can take care of the situation if he messed up royally. "So Fillius, Severus, and Gilderoy? Excellent. We'll talk more about the place and time, and then we'll put out a sign-up sheet. I expect this would be quite popular."

Once more, she had a lot to think about. But considering that this was Hogwarts, what was she to expect?

* * *

Albus was pacing in his office. Since he was alone, he'd allowed a small frown to creep onto his forehead.

He'd heard what the students were saying about Gilderoy's recent lessons. It wasn't that he disagreed with Gilderoy here. Gilderoy's argument had been very reasonable, very logical, and well-supported. Too right.

Minerva and the others had been surprised when he confirmed that Gilderoy's view was valid. They did not know that it was exactly what Albus himself had firmly believed in, in his youth - the only other living soul who knew and shared his views being Gellert.

And look where that got him.

Now, Albus was afraid of this perspective on dark arts, on power, on ambition. He dared not think about it anymore, in fear of the conclusion he would reach and where that conclusion would lead him. He'd almost slipped once down that slope. He didn't trust himself to go near it again.

And Gilderoy had brought the subject back up. _Gilderoy_, of all people...

There was also the matter of whether Gilderoy formulated this argument on his own - which he highly doubted. So then the question was, who was Gilderoy's new source of knowledge, if not Tom Riddle? Perhaps the author of an old, rarely-touched book in the restricted section?

Because Albus just happened to know of one such author, whose portrait had advised him while he was a student to read one such book.

Albus carefully glanced at the green portrait hanging above his chair. The figure inside was still sleeping peacefully. Albus sat back down.

He would let Gilderoy carry on with his lessons. There was nothing he could do - nothing _to _do about it. There was nothing wrong, after all. Nevertheless, even this idea did nothing to settle the slight but deep-set feeling of apprehension in his stomach.

He'd just have to be more careful, more watchful. Especially with Slytherin.

* * *

**AN: ****I'm trying to think of a way to get Sally injured (like actually injured, not faking) and sent to the hospital wing for at least a night stay sometime soon. Any suggestions?**


	33. Year 2: Chapter 7

_'I've received 60 letters from parents today, praising me for being a revolutionary! That's a record-breaking number of fanmail in a single morning!'_

_'Well congratulations, Gilderoy.' _

_'And I've also got 5 howlers, but we revolutionaries can't always please everyone, eh?'_

_'That is the unfortunate truth, Gilderoy,' _Hermione wrote back distractedly, while studying another unassuming journal that lay on the cool stone floor before Uncle Malory's statue, where she currently sat. _'Remember, for tomorrow, make sure to reiterate that misuse of the dark arts will not go unpunished, as it weakens the soul and will eventually lead to insanity and the loss of one's magic. __This should reduce your howler counts further.'_

It wasn't just dark arts, of course. As she'd explained to him, any assault of great enough magnitude on one's conscience would damage the soul. She wondered if Lockhart would pick up on this warning, as she was beginning to find his conscience highly questionable.

But damage on the scale of _this, _a horcrux... was rare even among dark wizards. Hermione sighed.

She'd torn off a page of the diary, and watched the movement of magic as the paper vanished and a new page grew out in its place. All horcruxes containers could repair themselves - unless when damaged by certain magically powerful things such as basilisk venom or fiendfyre. In addition, it seemed that Voldemort had cast many more charms around the diary to protect it. The most recent two seemed to be designed to act on one's mind, and were quite strong. Though curious, Hermione refrained from trying to determine what they did just yet. That would involve interacting with the charms, and could potentially trigger an alarm. Perhaps later, when she was done with it.

As she progressed inward through the layers of charms, the spells become noticeably cruder, though still very impressive considering Voldemort's knowledge and experience at the time. The earliest one was the charm that allowed the soul fragment to communicate through writing. Later on, one had been cast to let the horcrux function like a pensive. After that came a failed attempt to enable the horcrux with legilimency, which should've created an effect similar to the Mirror of Erised, the Sorting Hat, and several experimental items that Salazar had worked on prior to designing the Sorting Hat.

_'You know, Salazar, I think we're quite alike.' _Meanwhile, Lockhart was still scribbling away.

Hermione sincerely hoped not, but refrained from commenting. She wouldn't have been able to write back in time, in any case. Her quill seemed to have accurately lodged itself in Uncle Malory's left nostril.

_'We've both got impeccable style, and we both have beautiful penmanship. I'm sure if you'd played the crowd right, you could've been as popular as I am - well, almost. I think my smile still gives me an edge, eh? I've spent 5 years perfecting it, after all -"_

_'Yes, Gilderoy, your smile is beautiful no doubt,' _Hermione interrupted, not wanting to waste anymore time entertaining his vanity. The self-important chatterbox was really getting on her nerves. In addition, she was already exhausted between dealing with classes and her classmates, as well as chronically staying up late to finish homework, Lockhart's lesson plans (which should cover all possible questions people might throw at him), and her own exercises. Unlike a sentient diary, she didn't have all day to spend on him - the downside of her "masterplan", she supposed. _'Now what is this about starting a duelling club?'_

_'How did you know I'm starting a duelling club?' _Lockhart's surprised reply came after a small pause.

Portrait Salazar had heard McGonagall mention this to Dumbledore in his office, in fact. The professors had been asked to keep an eye on Gilderoy. This was all expected, and all would've be fine except... _'Gilderoy, be honest with me. In a duel with a one-time champion like Flitwick, or someone who'd had to duel for his life during the last war as many times as Snape, how good would you look? Better or worse than you would in a duel against pixies?'_

There was another pause. Apparently Lockhart couldn't bring himself to write down such a terrible realization for a second.

Slightly more contained, but still flowery, writing eventually appeared. '_I just offered to give a few pointers in the spur of the moment! I didn't expect Filius and Severus to be that good. I mean, they don't look like much! Severus has greasy hair and dresses so drably and -'_

Hermione stifled a yawn and removed his rant before he could even finish, knowing that he never would. Maybe she should warn him not to bore her to sleep, if he wanted his questions answered in time? She might miss out on useful information, but perhaps it would be for the better. _'I get your point, Gilderoy. At the duelling club, do not embarrass yourself by attempting to duel with spells you have not tried. In fact, do not participate in the duelling at all.' _It would be both a threat to Lockhart's credibility and public safety if he did.

_'Alright, alright,' _Lockhart replied placatingly, _'I'll tell them I want to give my colleagues a chance to run the show or something.'_

_'The first meeting is in two days, yes? I will teach you several duelling forms to show the students as your promised "pointers". For your own popularity's sake, do not actually duel. Do not go to the second meeting.'_

_'Whatever you say, Salazar,' _Lockhart replied, probably while rolling his eyes she imagined.

Sighing, Hermione started to draw him the duelling forms, after which she would probably have no time or energy to do anything apart from going to sleep. She would rather not touch a horcrux when tired.

And she'd best start making some contingency plan to preserve at least some of her progress, in case Lockhart manages to screw up in two days _despite_ her efforts.

She really hated dealing with dolts.

* * *

_'Playing the Nocturne is an excellent way to train and test your magical dexterity. You must be able to release enough power to sustain an audible note, and you must be able to control your magic well to play a melody. If you lack either, you will have difficulty with advanced spellwork, nonverbal magic, and wandless magic. You will also be unable to safely perform magic as demanding and dangerous as the dark arts. Thus, as a part of your final examination for Understanding the Dark Arts, your Nocturne will be evaluated.'_

All the more reasons to learn, Blaise thought, smoothing the pages of Hogwarts' repertoire of Nocturnes on his lap. By some good fortune, he'd been able to acquire one of the leather armchairs by the fireplace. The bright, steady green flame within was lukewarm, surprisingly. Perhaps something's been done to it - a permanent chilling charm?

Daphne was seated in one of the long sofas on his left, and laughing with Parkinson and Davis. Theo was apparently off to somewhere, despite the fact that curfew had already begun half an hour ago. (Not that any of the prefects cared, as long as he could avoid getting caught.) Like himself, all three of them had followed the instructions in the book and started to teach themselves the Nocturne over the summer. Currently, they were more or less on the stage of reliably producing and holding a steady note, at any desired pitch. Blaise tried a scale once, and had been pleased to find that he could just about stumble through it. But he would keep practicing the notes for now. He'd rather learn to walk before he try to run.

"Nott's been reading a book like that too."

Blaise started. He hadn't noticed Avery reading over his shoulder until now. "Geez, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Not my fault I walk lightly," Avery said indignantly, "Can't expect me to lumber around like Goyle or Bulstrode. This looks interesting though. I thought I heard my great grandpa mention something about Nocturnes, but I've never thought much of it before. Who would've thought it was so important? Especially if we're going to learn dark spells in the future."

No one would've admitted that so openly last year, but ever since Lockhart's lectures, things had changed a little bit. Blaise subtly wondered whether it would be a good idea to get the rest of his house interested in Nocturnes before he could get a significant head start. But then again, wouldn't it be better if everyone could appreciate its worth? In any case, he couldn't stop Avery now. If this was once a Hogwarts textbook, he could probably find another copy in the library. "Have you ever heard it played before?"

"Nope," said Avery, turning his head sideways and trying to skim the rest of the book by lifting the page corners slightly. "Oh look, there's a piece for each house near the back."

"Really? I haven't gotten that far yet," Blaise turned to the pages he indicated. Indeed, there were four compositions titled 'Gryffindor', 'Hufflepuff', 'Ravenclaw', and 'Slytherin'. Each consisted of several lines of melodies, of varying complexity, to be played simultaneously. In Slytherin's Nocturne, for example, the most difficult line had a lot of tiny notes that flew up and down the staff. The simplest one looked like something he would be able to try in a few weeks' time. He would look forward to that. "You think they made so many variations so that everyone can play, no matter which year you're in?"

"Probably," Avery nodded, "And the last Nocturne's for the whole school. Four lines, one for each house? It reminds me of the four voices in choral music. Slytherin gets tenor." He pointed to the third line from the top. Even though he was not as familiar with things relating to music as Avery, Blaise could recognize much of it as segments from the previous composition. "But it's not like those muggle cantatas where one voice runs the show. Each of the four lines here sounds good on its own, but somehow they're all supposed to mesh together."

"Each has a place in the world, and each house its own glory," Blaise suddenly remembered.

"And united we are strong, says the Sorting Hat," Avery quirked an eyebrow, then shrugged. "I really do wonder what this sounds like."

They were interrupted when Avery was bumped by Malfoy and Flint as they passed by.

"You heard, right?" Avery murmured when they were out of earshot, "Malfoy's bought his way on to the Quidditch team by offering to replace all the Slytherin brooms with Nimbus 2001s."

Blaise quickly glanced at Flint, who was clapping Malfoy on the back in a rarely seen brotherly fashion. Malfoy was smiling smugly. Clearly he was jealous of Harry, despite his attempts at looking nonchalant. "Looks like he succeeded, then,"

"Well, he certainly succeeded in giving the brooms away," said Avery, "And Flint _is_ training him to play seeker for the next game."

In other words, Flint was letting Malfoy fly for the next game. If Malfoy performed decently, then Flint would keep him. If not, then Flint would keep the brooms and probably put him on reserve - which was technically still part of the team. Somehow, Blaise doubted that Malfoy realized this possibility. "So Malfoy's got three more days to practice."

"Yup. Let's see how that turns out," Avery turned over what looked like a bird's skull with interest. It was one of the smaller among the row of skulls of various animals that sat on the mantle, in juxtaposition with the vase of pink roses there. "I don't know which I look forward to more - the game, or the duelling club. I bet the whole school's going - well, maybe not that many Hufflepuffs, but still."

"Oh yeah," like pretty much all of his housemates, Blaise had signed up for that at first chance. "Wonder who's hosting? I heard Flitwick used to be a competitive duellist."

"Yeah maybe him, or maybe Snape or McGonagall - they both look the type," nodded Avery, "or maybe Lockhart. Just a guess... Oh, Pike's calling me. Good luck with that, by the way."

Blaise smiled in return, and continued to practice varying the volume of his 'C#' note.


	34. Year 2: Chapter 8

"Sally? I... I was wondering... if you could help me learn something?"

Hermione looked up from her breakfast, at a fidgeting Neville. She'd been hoping to look at Voldemort's diary before midnight, but she didn't want to scare Neville away either. And he didn't look so nervous when he asked her for help before, she remembered. What was different about this time? She rubbed her eyes. "Sure, Neville. What do you need help with?"

Spending time on Neville meant that she wouldn't have time to finish her experiments before midnight. This unfortunately meant that she would have to wait in Gryffindor tower until midnight for the new password to come out until she could leave, again. Once more, she cursed the inconvenience of being in Gryffindor. Unlike the non-sensical Gryffindor passwords, the Slytherin passwords were particularly designed to let true Slytherins back into their common room after utilizing their curfew: each new password would always be a word somehow related to the previous three passwords. Thus, if you knew the pattern, if you'd been in the Slytherin common room for three consecutive days, and if you were reasonably knowledgeable, you would be able to guess the password within twenty tries. It also helped that you wouldn't have to rely on the presence of some portrait for access.

"Well," he swallowed, "If you have time later today, I was hoping to - I mean, I thought it would be a good idea to - "

Before he could answer, a loud crash could be heard as Harry and Ron stumbled into the Great Hall. Ron seemed to be leaning on his shorter companion for support. Hermione narrowed her eyes, wondering what this could be about. Neither of them looked visibly injured.

"What happened?" she asked as Harry deposited Ron on the bench, before plopping down next to him.

"Malfoy," Ron managed to say, before doubling over. To Hermione's horror, he vomited out four slimy slugs onto the table, which narrowly missed her plate as she snatched it out of the way.

"The Slytherin team came out and demanded to share the field during Quidditch practice this morning," Harry elaborated, seeing as Ron was currently incapacitated. "We booked the field, but they had a note from Snape because they needed to train Malfoy - Malfoy bought his way onto their Quidditch team!"

"Ah, jealous of you, perhaps?" Hermione wasn't surprised. She wondered, though, when that boy would stop relying on his father.

"Oh, he'd definitely jealous of Harry," Ron laughed. Since he'd stopped spewing slugs, Hermione was able to vanish the mess with a cleaning spell. "Anyways, he started showing off his money and insulting my family, and I kind of lost my temper."

"He tried to hex Malfoy but his wand backfired," Harry explained. "good that it seems to be stopping, though. Earlier, Hagrid and I had to give him a new bucket every minute."

"Ron, you see now why I recommended that you lock your wand up in your trunk where you won't be tempted to use it?"

Poor Ron nodded, and answered her by coughing up another squirming slug. Malfoy, who happened to be strolling in with Crabbe and Goyle at this moment, pointed and laughed loudly. Ron clenched his fists and made to get up, before Hermione and Harry stopped him. "You can't do anything here," Harry muttered.

Hermione shook her head, and pushed her plate away. She didn't have much of an appetite these days to begin with. Ah well... at least dinner would be more enjoyable, especially with what she'd arranged to happen tonight.

* * *

"So yesterday was the last lesson on Merlin, Morgana, and king Arthur," Neville thought he heard professor Binn say as he doodled a mimbulus mimbletonia on his parchment. He wasn't sure. To his left, Dean was slumped over in his chair and snoring softly.

"And a short while after Morgana perished in exacting her revenge on Arthur, and Merlin succumbed to the injuries he sustained in trying to stop her, Hogwarts was founded. And a short while after that, Hengist of Woodcroft established Hogsmead, the village beside the school. You will be able to visit it in third year. And a while after that, Gringott was built. Or wait - maybe it was before?..."

Eventually, Neville heard the scraping of chairs that indicated the end of the class. He stood up as well. Unfortunately, he'd accidentally bumped the table, causing his inkwell to fall off and shatter, splashing ink everywhere. Maybe he shouldn't have put it so close to the edge. Gran always said he was clumsy...

"Oh, I almost forgot," Professor Binn suddenly shouted, "there will be a second part of this lesson at dinner!"

To his right, Seamus groaned. "Oh come on! I was hoping to go to sleep after dinner, not during dinner!"

"Yeah," Dean snickered, "but lesson at dinner? He never did that before, did he?"

Neville thought it was strange too, but he was too busy wiping ink off his trainers to join the conversation. Besides, he also had something else to think about - such as the spell he wondered if he should learn.

On the one hand, he knew he needed it. He wanted to make sure that he could protect the people he loved. He didn't want anyone to suffer like his parents, ever again. On the other hand, it was a very dangerous spell. He wasn't sure he liked the idea that he was learning the spell _she_ used. And after that time he really didn't want to see it, ever again. What would Gran say, when she hears that he'd been practicing not just a dark spell, but _that_ spell no less? Would she be disappointed? Would the other Gryffindors be upset with him?

And how would Sally feel? She would have to cast it too, wouldn't she? Would she be willing to do this?

Neville barely realised the time passing until he was seated at the dinner table, and people started wondering how Binn was going to teach his special class. Neville wondered too. Looking around, the Great Hall was just like it would be during any other dinner.

"Ahem," Professor Binn cleared his throat. Neville wondered why he needed to do that. Did ghosts even get things in their throats? "So as you know, I told all of you that there would be a second part to today's class. But considering the subject matter, it had been suggested that this part of history would be better described by the representative ghosts of the four houses. This lesson will be about the four founders of Hogwarts, who are arguably the most important witches and wizards of their era."

"Oh yes," Dean snorted, "because if you can have one ghost teach history, why not have five?"

"I honestly can't imagine Nick teaching," Ron sniggered, but covered his mouth nervously when he hiccuped.

"Well I think this is a wonderful idea," said Percy, who was Ron's brother, "the ghosts of Hogwarts have lived during the early days of the school, and might actually know the founders personally. They would remember things no history book can tell you."

"Do you think Peeves can teach a class on dungbomb planting?" grinned Fred and George, who were Ron's other brothers, together.

But the murmurs quickly died down, because the Fat Friar had started to speak.

...

"Helga Hufflepuff," he laughed merrily, "was the best healer in her village. She was quite well known in quite a large part of the country as well, before Hogwarts. Ailing people would flock to her for her miracles. She was around twenty-five, she said, when Hogwarts was founded. Then, after the school was in operation, she'd taught herbology and charms, and ran the hospital wing. Even at Hogwarts, people would come in from all over of the country for her help with healing."

"Hufflepuff was famous even before Hogwarts?" Ron asked, awed. "How come nobody ever talked about that? But I guess when you compare founding Hogwarts to any other accomplishments, Hogwarts trumps all..."

"I was fortunate enough to be taught by her, in her later years - she and her husband both taught and lived at Hogwarts all their lives. She was such a gentle soul, and the kindest lady I've ever met. Helga and her husband Arthur both lived long, happy lives, before they passed away peacefully in their sleep. They had eight adorable children, whom I also had the good fortune to meet," the Friar finished, beaming. Neville saw that the Hufflepuffs were smiling proudly, and whispering among themselves with excitement.

...

The next was the Grey Lady, the ghost of Ravenclaw. "Lady Rowena Ravenclaw, my mother," she began haltingly, as if pained by something. "was the greatest philosopher of her time, as well as a prolific author - I dare say she'd written a textbook for every subject I can think of. But I suppose you already know of her intellect..."

Neville didn't think she liked talking about her mother very much. The other ghosts must've talked her into this.

"She was a revered poet, and a good musician. Not the best - that I know for sure. My mother couldn't be the best at everything," the Grey Lady smiled slightly, almost victoriously, before continuing. "She invented countless charms and spells. At the time of Hogwarts' founding, about three quarters of the contents of the school library were her contribution. She'd taught astronomy, runes, and the dark arts after Salazar left. That's all I have to say."

There wasn't much new information for Ravenclaw, Neville thought, since everyone knew she was smart and wise and very knowledgeable. The only surprise was the last part. _"Ravenclaw _taught dark arts?"

Then, somebody said, "why not?" And there were nods all around.

This made Neville feel a bit better about what he was going to do.

...

The third to speak was Nearly-Headless-Nick, who was gliding up and down the Gryffindor table dramatically. Neville could see that he wore an extra-large ruff around his neck today.

"You reckon he's been rehearsing for this?" Dean whispered.

Seamus and Lavender shrugged.

"Sir Godric Gryffindor," enunciated Nick carefully, rolling his tongue with each syllable. To Dean and Ron's horror, this was followed by an embarrassing pause as Nick forgot what he was going to say next. Neville felt sorry for the poor ghost. Could ghosts get stage fright?

Fortunately, Nick started speaking again before anyone could snigger at him. "- had retired and passed on when I was a very young child. Nevertheless, my parents had told me enough about his adventures for any child to look to him as a hero -"

"You've never actually met him?" Ron blurted, a bit disappointed.

"Er, no," Nick scratched his head, "Myself and the Friar are much younger than the other two ghosts, you see - they were already here as ghosts when we were here as students... But then again, Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor also lived the longest, of the four founders. Er, I believe the order was Slytherin first at around age 55, followed by Ravenclaw at 65, then Hufflepuff at age 120 -"

"Nick!" Seamus yelled across the table. "Skip all the death stuff and tell us about Gryffindor!" Neville saw several people snigger at this.

"Anyways," Nick coughed, looking a little flustered, "Sir Godric Gryffindor became a knight in his youth under the training of old Sir Cadogan -"

"_What_?! Cadogan?" shouted the entire hall.

"Er, but of course," Nick continued, "his prowress was such that he'd grown to surpass his mentor by far, eh?''

Ron laughed. "You could say that again!" Most of the Gryffindor table nodded in agreement.

"Er, as I was saying, Sir Gryffindor became a reknowned knight. Over time, he'd also established a reputation as one of the best duellists in the country. Not a single child hadn't heard of the dragon-slaying, evil-fighting Sir Gryffindor. I was so proud to be sorted into his house..." Nick sighed dreamily, "My grandparents had told me - and they had been taught by Sir Gryffindor himself - that he was a master of transfiguration, and an expert in all sorts of magical beasts and creatures. He was also the one who invented the flying broom. At first it was meant to be a way for witches and wizards to escape from muggle witch-burning mobs, disguised as a common household object. But, er, in doing so, he helped people discover the joy of flying for sport, and soon Quidditch was born."

And here Nick had to stop, because it became very hard to hear him over the loud cheering of the Gryffindor table. It took nearly five minutes for the room to quiet down again. Then, the dead silent hall turned toward the Bloody Baron.


	35. Year 2: Chapter 9

**AN: I had to change the time of the quidditch match in chapter 33 so that a future chapter would work out. Right now, the Slytherin/Gryffindor match is 2 days away (and Malfoy would've started training much earlier of course).**

* * *

At the Head Table, Severus's plate was long forgotten. Indeed, aside from Lockhart and Sybil, who seemed to be off in their own worlds as always, all of the professors were currently frozen in their seats.

"Lord Salazar Slytherin," the Baron's cool gaze swept the room, as if daring them to challenge him, "was one of the best and greatest wizards of all time. By this I do not mean most formidable duelling prowess, most brilliant intellect, greatest wealth, or even greatest influence. I am referring to the magnitude of problems he solved, and contribution to society."

Nobody did. The room remained silent, dead silent. A number of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws rolled their eyes at this, as Severus expected, though most of them quickly stopped after accidentally meeting the Baron's eyes. Most of the students of his own house were able to refrain from visibly reacting to both the Baron's words and the eye-rolling. They knew that they would be doing themselves a disservice by showing weakness.

But on the far side of the hall, all of the Gryffindors were listening attentively and politely. Severus was greatly surprised, as he'd expected them to have started booing and shouting insults by now. Instead, some of them - including Potter - seemed to be... nodding?

"Apart from educating the populace, Professor Slytherin's greatest accomplishment was the successful resolution of the muggle-magic situation."

"But he hated muggles and muggleborns!" shouted Ernest Macmillan from the Hufflepuff table. "So he failed, didn't he? He probably tried to kill them all!"

Severus prepared to scold the boy for the rude interruption, but his mouth nearly dropped open as Mr. Macmillan's had when at least a dozen Gryffindors replied, "No."

Potter was among them once again. "He actually wanted people to welcome muggleborns," he explained, "and he tried not to hurt muggles, even though he really didn't like them. He wanted people to leave the muggles alone and hide themselves rather than retaliating for the witch-burnings."

_'Ah, they must've read that book as well,' _Severus realized.

"We found a book he wrote -" said Fred Weasley,

" - and it was rather surprising -" said George Weasley,

"- right, Slytherins?"

While Severus knew that the Weasley twins were the ones who had (admittedly ingeniously) placed Slytherin's book in front of the Slytherin common room, it still surprised him that the House of the Lions had actually taken the time to circulate the book around and read it. It surprised him more that they were actually willing to reconsider what they'd been taught all their lives because of it. Perhaps, he realized with a little shame, there was more to them than he chose to acknowledge...

Currently, the Bloody Baron was wearing what most would call a perfect poker face. But Severus, being a Slytherin and a spy, noticed his silver brows furrowing slightly and realized that he was similarly astonished. "Indeed. Professor Slytherin knew that it was better for both parties to avoid confrontations between muggles and wizards entirely. The Statute of Secrecy was made possible because of Salazar's work in proposing and advocating for the concept, because he used his political influence to sway important figures to support it, and because Hogwarts taught people the means to enforce it - such as the obliviation charm. Salazar _strongly disliked_ the muggles of our time - hate was too strong an emotion to waste on them, he'd said - yet he sought a peaceful solution."

The Slytherin ghost gave the room another sweeping look, before fixing Macmillan with a cold gaze that in Severus's opinion would make even the likes of Voldemort shiver. "But young sir, if you somehow feel that you know my professor and mentor better than I, you may discuss your reasons with me."

The boy gulped, then blushed, then scratched his head with obvious discomfort.

Having achieved his desired effect, the Baron continued. "At Hogwarts, Lord Slytherin addressed the needs and concerns of his subjects at his village, for whom he felt responsible - yes, this included the well-being of the muggles - even as he taught us. His classes were Potions, Charms, and yes, Understanding the Dark Arts. Here you are not surprised, since as Merlin's name became synonymous with magic, Salazar's name became synonymous with dark arts. This had been intentional."

Again, hushed silence met the Baron's cool gaze. Severus suspected that the students would've been in an uproar by now, had it not been for Lockhart's classes. But thanks to Lockh - the alternative explanation of the dark arts, people were willing to listen first before jumping.

"He was leading by example. He wanted to show people what a dark wizard ought to be: someone who wielded his power with careful control, great efficiency, and never frivolously. Someone who worked to better himself, but also took responsibility for others' well-being. Someone who refrained from using the dark arts selfishly or to cause mass destruction, not out of weakness but out of principle. And people followed his lead, up until the 13th century."

And Voldemort was nothing like this, Severus suddenly saw. Voldemort frequently overpowered his spells just for dramatic effects and cursed people for entertainment. Voldemort would destroy a thousand lives without hesitation, if only for a minute benefit to himself, if only because he can. Voldemort called himself a lord, yet he felt no responsibility for those who followed him.

If Voldemort was Slytherin's heir, then the apple had certainly fallen very far from the tree.

The Baron sighed. "Up until the 13th century, dark arts were used constructively - and if anyone breached the moral code, unlike today, other dark wizards were capable of stopping him together. But it had always been a difficult edge to balance on, and no one could entirely control what happens in the distant future. In the 13th century, when the Ministry of Magic was first created, there was a frenzy to create laws. Someone proposed that to prevent the possibility of a disaster, dark arts should be eradicated. Since people had always been fearful of what the dark arts could do, and since they were at the time confident that the Ministry could do anything, the law was passed. Some, mostly members of Slytherin house, remembered that dark arts had indispensable benefits and opposed it, of course, and for this we were treated like all the other law-breakers - like the murderers and the thieves. After that, everything went out of control."

_'And if they'd convinced some dark wizards that they are murderers and thieves...' _Severus supressed a grimace. It didn't take a genius to see that it was a terrible idea.

"They tried to incinerate all of Professor Slytherin's work too, but," he chuckled darkly, "ironically, the dark wards on them couldn't be destroyed without powerful dark magic. Then they tried to collect all copies of the books, to be locked away somewhere deep within the Ministry. This would've worked, except one copy of each book had been charmed to remain in Hogwarts. It had been very... entertaining to watch them try, however."

Severus saw his students trade knowing glances among themselves at this last statement, no doubt remembering their own experience attempting to destroy one of Salazar Slytherin's books. Severus also saw some cogs turning in their heads as some of them scanned the Head Table, and this made him smile slightly. Should a student - of any house - approach him with a request to borrow a book authored by a founder from the restricted section for supplementary reading, one that was suitable for their level of understanding of course, he would most likely oblige.

The Baron was surveying the room again. Severus thought he might've been a bit amused at the variety of expressions that met his gaze. Then he added, almost casually, "Ah, and Professor Slytherin was also an excellent musician. His Nocturnes were the best I've known. You can find some of his compositions near the end of Hogwart's Nocturne repertoire, in the library. That covers everything important, I believe."

Severus noticed that the idea that Slytherin could have such a _peaceful_ hobby, and was presumably better at it than even Ravenclaw, managed to shock some students as much as everything else the Baron had said so far.

Interestingly, the silence in the Great Hall prevailed throughout the rest of dinner. Lockhart eventually broke it as people started to leave, by saying, "I hope to see you all at the Duelling Club tomorrow!", at which point chatter broke out as if on cue. '_And as to Lockhart...'_ Severus glanced at the periwinkle-clad man who was looking obnoxiously pleased with himself. He still didn't know what to think of him, but he'll be watching very closely tomorrow.

As Severus left the Great Hall, he murmured a quiet "thank you" to the Bloody Baron, and received a small nod in return.

He could feel that something was slowly shifting within the school - the appearance of the book, the Sorting Hat's new song, and now this... Severus didn't know whether these unconnected events were really a trend, or simply a cluster of coincidences. He suspected it was a mixture of both - possibly the discovery of Slytherin's book created an opportunity last year, one that various parties had been smart enough to seize?

Whatever it was, Severus certainly didn't mind.

* * *

Neville followed his housemates back to the Gryffindor common room. Dinner took much longer than usual today - who could eat during such an unusual history lesson? In his book bag, his hand closed around the smooth, curved glass wall of the jar. It felt warm, both from him holding it so much and from the restless scurrying of the mouse inside. He'd nicked it from transfiguration class. He didn't think it was very happy about being carried around in his bag, especially because he had a tendency to accidentally bump it into things.

But it was definitely going to like the next part less.

"Neville, what are you working on?" Sally.

Neville didn't answer her straight away. Instead, he tried to scan the room for a empty table in a inconspicuous corner without looking too suspicious. He wasn't very good at sneaky. And Salazar, why did the round Gryffindor common room have to have so few corners? This table near the edge of the room will have to do...

Sally didn't say another word as she followed him to it and sat down across from him. Once they were both seated, Neville reached into his bag for the umpteenth time and took out the poor mouse's jar. Surprisingly, his hand didn't shake at all as he set it on the table.

Again, Sally didn't say a word, only glanced down at it in question.

So Neville explained, not sure if the firmness of his voice quite corresponded to how he was currently feeling. "I want to learn the Cruciatus Curse, so that it can never be used to hurt someone I love again. Can you cast it on this mouse, so that I can try to counter it?"

And now the second hardest part was done!

Sally's eyes snapped up to his face the moment he named the curse. Apart from that, she didn't seem exactly shocked, or alarmed. Neville tried to guess what she was thinking, but he quickly gave up. He wasn't very good at reading people either.

But somehow, he knew that it was okay to ask her. Just a gut feeling, he supposed.

"Neville... That's very brave of you."

Brave? Neville blinked.

"Will you be okay, though?"

Would he? Neville took a deep breath and nodded "yes".

The white mouse had calmed down a lot, now that it realized it was on a stationary, stable surface. Sally gently picked it up out of the jar and placed it on the table. It promptly began to stroll around, enjoying its newfound not-quite-freedom. "We won't ... go all out," Sally murmured, carefully pointing the tip of her wand at its leg. Neville guiltily noticed that the mouse was completely unaware of this. "I'll try to make it feel it's broken a leg. Neville, if you're ready..."

Now came the hardest part, Neville thought.

_'I can do this... I can do this...' S_haking away the recurring nightmare of terrible screaming, flailing limbs and cruel laughter, Neville copied Sally and aimed his wand at the mouse too.

"Crucio." "Crucio."

The mouse shuddered, surprised by the sudden pain in its left front leg. It was limping badly now. But Neville was relieved to see that it didn't look too awful - worse things happen to it in transfiguration class, even. This was manageable.

And Neville concentrated harder. He wanted the mouse to feel nothing, nothing at all... But how? It was even more difficult than he'd thought!

"I think you've got to focus on a feeling you can imagine," murmured Sally.

Like numbness, when you plunge your hand into a bucket of ice water? Or better yet, like the cool feeling you get when you put ointment on a wound? Or maybe both? He could try that.

The mouse, Neville was very pleased to see, was limping less and less.

"You're really getting it, Neville!" Sally whispered happily.

Neville felt himself smile widely. But in his slight distraction, the limp was returning. He couldn't have this happen. And if he was to protect people, he'd have to get this perfect. He'd have to keep trying. After all, Bellatrix could do much worse than his friend, and _that_ was what he had to be prepared for.

He focused again on the soothing, healing feeling, imagining it in his mind. And very, very slowly, the mouse put more and more weight on its "bad leg", until it could almost walk normally again. Neville watched it for a while with Sally, struggling to maintain his focus, before they both removed their wands and left the mouse in peace. Neville leaned back in his chair to rest. He wanted to keep trying - just to prove to himself that he could do it every time, but his brain felt exhausted after all that concentrating. And was it really so late already? he hadn't even noticed the time passing.

"Want to call it a day?" Sally asked, rubbing her eyes. She looked a bit tired too, Neville saw. But of course... He'd almost forgotten that it must've been as difficult for her as it was for him.

"Alright," Neville agreed. "I think I'll go to sleep now."

"That's a good idea," Sally laughed softly. "Oh, and Neville? Remember that book I sent you over the summer?"

"The book on Nocturnes?" Neville had skimmed through it because it was from Sally, but he hadn't tried any of the passages yet.

"You'll have a easier time with this if you practice some of the compositions. Then we won't have to hurt the mouse as many times."

Neville nodded at the good news. He'd like playing music much better than casting _crucio _at a mouse for hours. "Thanks, Sally! And good night!"

"Night, Neville."

* * *

"Night, Neville." Hermione bade goodnight to Neville and sat back down to complete her homework. Even though she rarely needed to look things up like the other students, the assignments still took time to write, and her teachers mustn't notice a change in quality.

She was impressed by Neville's courage. To seek out one's deepest fear, then to master it, was a highly difficult thing to do. On top of that, to be willing to learn an "unforgivable curse", despite knowing what his friends and family's reaction would likely be... Clearly, there was a reason Neville was in Gryffindor.

Not that anyone saw him. The room had been too loud at the time for anyone to hear the muttered incantation, as people were busy discussing the events at dinner. She'd asked the Baron for the favour yesterday night. It was pushing the timeframe a little tighter together than she'd liked - she would've preferred for students to have at least a month to get used to the new perspective on dark arts, rather than two mere weeks. This meant that many students might still lump all the recent events together and reject them altogether. But she also wanted to capitalize on the effort she'd spent on Lockhart early, should he make a fool of himself at the Duelling Club and undo all his (but really her) good work. By clearing her own name - Salazar's name - she would be left with more channels to either maintain or salvage things, even when Lockhart loses credibility.

And so Edmund had convinced the other ghosts to co-operate - which was an impressive feat, considering that this included the Grey Lady. And together they'd persuaded Binn to make them a part of his lesson, today. Hermione chuckled softly, picturing this. She sincerely thanked him for his efforts, and the very flattering speech as well.

On the whole, Hermione thought it went well. What was happening within Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff remained to be seen, but she was fairly confident that her fellow Gryffindors would see that Salazar wasn't an evil git. Even Ron was quietly mulling things over, which was encouraging. Yawning, she packed away her now completed assignments and made a mental note to brew more invigoration draught while she worked.

So, they would be duelling tomorrow, huh?

She wished Lockhart, and Flitwick and Severus, the best of luck.


	36. Year 2: Chapter 10

"Excited for the duelling club, Sally?" asked Ginny at breakfast. The little redhead was practically bouncing up and down in her seat. There had been no need to worry about odd looks from their classmates, since the Great Hall was still relatively empty.

"Certainly," Hermione nodded, absentmindedly cutting a piece of toast in half. "I can see that you are too?"

"Oh yes! I always knew Hogwarts would be exciting, but I can't believe so many cool things happened already!" Ginny's face split into a brilliant smile, something that Hermione got to see much more often this past week. She was glad that Ginny had gotten over her discovery that "Tom" no longer wrote back to her. The girl had moped over the black book for the first few days, during which Percy had repeatedly scolded Fred and George for upsetting her with their jokes (something they were not entirely innocent of). But eventually Ginny had put "Tom's diary" away and carried on with her life.

Ah, Tom... He must've had quite an effect on Ginny, to make her mourn his loss for so long. He'd have to make himself her friend, attentively listen to her and reply back with care. But then again, he had strong incentives for doing so. From the diagnostics Hermione conducted on the real diary yesterday, it seemed that the soul fragment within it had been permitted to temporarily wander out of the host object. This would possibly enable it to possess someone susceptible - that is, weak-willed, overly trusting, or overly attached to it. In fact, Hermione now highly suspected that one of the two most recent charms was making the diary seem friendlier.

Hermione filed this away with the composite image of Voldemort that she was slowly developing in her mind. Such a pity, that all this should be used for all the wrong things. He could've been brilliant, not this disgrace upon her family and her house...

"...Sally?" Ginny waved her hand in front of her eyes. Hermione looked down and saw that her toast and fork were still hovering between her mouth and her plate, and hastily took a bite. "You kind of spaced out just then. Not fully awake yet?"

"Possibly," Hermione laughed softly, "I'm glad you're liking Hogwarts."

Ginny bobbed her head. "I had flying lessons yesterday. Ron got me so excited about those, and it was every bit as fun as he said. I can't wait to watch Harry fly at the Quidditch game!"

"Oh, yes, it's tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Well of course! Where've you been all year?" Ginny stared incredulously. "Anyways, Colin said the Slytherin team's got really cool brooms this year. Their seeker's very mean, though - I think it's the same guy whose dad got into a fight with our dad in Diagon Alley. Apparently his dad was the one who bought their brooms, and he started waving it in the Gryffindor team's face yesterday. Colin said Ron got mad and tried to curse him, but it backfired on himself and he started barfing slugs - I tried to ask Ron whether it was true. He wouldn't talk about it."

Hermione confirmed that it was.

Ginny snorted. "Now I know. Colin didn't manage to get a good picture."

"Ah, about Colin," Hermione was about to say when her necklace warmed, signaling that Lockhart was writing to her again: _'Salazar, I need your help! I don't know what to do, and there's hardly any time left to decide!'_

"What about him?" Asked Ginny.

"Oh it's not much. Just, if you see him again, could you ask him to stop taking so many pictures of Harry? I don't think Harry likes it very much." Hermione refrained from furrowing her brows as she directed the invisible quill to reply. What trouble could he have gotten into so early in the morning? _'What is the problem, Gilderoy?' _

_'Should I wear plum or emerald today? Which __one would look better at a duelling club? Emerald is a classic, but plum would add a nice, unique flair.'_

...The moron!

"... be so disappointed, poor Colin. But I'll try to tell him, I guess." Hermione was so preoccupied trying not to facepalm or display any outward sign of her immense irritation that she'd missed the first part of Ginny's reply. Her temples were starting to buzz slightly - a mild side effect of the invigoration draught, aggravated by stupidity.

"Thanks, Ginny," she managed to ignore the ache and smile while she wrote back, _calmly_ so that her calligraphy wouldn't change, _'Plum suits you better, Gilderoy.'_

Emerald was a colour she'd rather not have associated with an idiot.

Hermione talked with Ginny some more, then with Neville when he arrived cheerily. Harry and Ron eventually appeared as well, still speculating who would be hosting the duelling club. Thanks to last evening's events, in addition to Flitwick, McGonagall and Lockhart, the pool of possible candidates had now expanded to include Nearly-Headless-Nick, the Baron, and even Cadogan's painting. Then Seamus pointed out that Cadogan couldn't teach them, since according to the legends he'd already broken his wand by the time he charged at the dragon on the fat pony.

Sometime in the midst of this, Malfoy strolled in while smugly listing to his two goons all the curses he would use on some "mudbloods" at the duelling club. This earned him multiple hateful glares from everyone who heard him and wasn't wearing green ties, and a few not entirely successfully concealed apprehensive looks from those who were. Hermione was once again reminded that something need to be done about him, and probably a handful others as well, or they would undo her work - once again.

Finally, after thirty minutes, Lockhart finally appeared in a deep plum robe set. Thank goodness.

The rest of the day passed rather quickly, and soon it was the time that everyone was anxiously waiting for. At 8 o'clock, the tables in the Great Hall had been temporarily vanished, and a golden stage had been set up along one wall. Lockhart stood in the center of the stage and beamed at the gathered students, flanked by a happy-looking Flitwick and an expressionless Snape.

"Gather round! Gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!

"Now, Professor Dumbledore had an excellent idea to start this little duelling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves. My colleagues have, of course, invited me to share some of my expertise in this area, since -" he flashed his white teeth, dazzling Lavender and quite a few other girls "- I've had to defend myself on countless occasions - for full details, see my published work. But remember, this is their show, after all! I'll just say a few words, then I'll let them have the spotlight."

Harry snorted at that, though he wisely kept himself quiet. "You think he can manage it?"

Hermione certainly hoped so.

"The first thing you need to know about duelling," smiled Lockhart knowledgeably, "is the proper posture. Good duelling form will help you a long way, since it increases your agility and accuracy. This is the most versatile form:"

He took a step forward, so that his body was facing the end of the stage, and raised his wand arm. Hermione was glad to see that he'd executed it fairly correctly. She had spent some time sketching and labelling her diagrams to ensure this, after all. "You'll notice that my side is facing my opponent, and my knees slightly bent, to allow for quick movement from side to side. This lets me dodge oncoming spells, and gives my opponent a smaller target area. My feet are shoulder width apart, for stability - especially important if I cast a shield to block my opponent's spell. My wand is raised just below eye level. This makes it easy for me to aim my spells, while giving my arm plenty of freedom to execute the wand movements perfectly. My back is straight, for balance... Not to mention it makes me look more dashing, no?" Lockhart finished with a rather obnoxious wink, but thankfully the merit of his "pointers" meant that no one was repulsed too much.

Lockhart then had everyone try this toward the stage, while Flitwick, Snape, and himself went around the room to correct students.

"This feels a bit like the flying lesson in first year," Ron remarked.

"Hopefully nothing disastrous happens this time," Neville gulped, remembering how he'd slipped off his broom and had to go to the hospital wing. But then he became much more confident. "But I don't think I'll get hurt badly this time. I can cast the shield charm if anyone tries to jinx me."

After about fifteen minutes, the professors made their way around the hall and returned to the stage. "All yours, Filius!" Lockhart waved dramatically.

Hermione let out the breath she'd been secretly holding since morning when Lockhart dutifully stepped off the stage, honouring their agreement. Flitwick demonstrated "Expelliarmus" by disarming Snape, who had been holding his wand out in good humour. Following this, the students were split into pairs to practice disarming each other. This went fairly smoothly, even when the partners were from different houses. Everyone adhered to the "disarm only" rule, and whoever succeeded would kindly hand the wand back to their opponent - with the exception of Malfoy, who'd managed to disarm Goyle and was now taunting him about it.

Harry had successfully disarmed Hermione six times now, she was pleased to see. Ron and Seamus had to take turn, to avoid any more mishaps with Ron's broken wand after the slug incident. Neville hadn't disarmed Justin Finch-Fletchly yet, but he came very close.

At 9 o'clock, Flitwick wanted to call up two students who could confidently cast the disarming spell to demonstrate. "How about Miss Granger? I'm sure you have no problem with this spell."

Hermione stepped up to the stage. As she did, she distinctively heard Malfoy snort.

"Now Miss Granger, is there any one you would like to challenge?"

Hermione glanced around, intending to call either Blaise, Theo, or Harry. But then her gaze just happened to sweep over Malfoy's arrogant, sneering face.

She'd found her opponent in an instant.

"I challenge Draco Malfoy," she announced clearly and coolly. As the words left her mouth, Hermione was rather surprised that she actually got angry for a moment. Apparently the headache was making her incredibly short tempered.

But she didn't have a lot of time to ponder this before Malfoy swaggered up to the stage and faced her with a condescending smirk. Hermione smiled back respectfully, as was customary of any duellist with any class when facing their opponent.

"It is customary for each of the two participants of a wizard duel to name a second - that is, someone to take over in case you are unable to continue. The challenger must defeat both his opponent and his second to win," said Flitwick, "the wizards or witches named as seconds are also responsible for ensuring that their opponents obey the accepted combative rules. Now, Miss Granger, who would you name as second?"

"Harry," Hermione said, glancing toward her friend and receiving a nod.

"And Mr. Malfoy?"

"Professor Snape's my second," smirked the blond to the shock of the whole room. Even Snape looked surprised at Malfoy's nerve, though he accepted with a silent jerk of his head nevertheless.

"Al...right," said Flitwick hesitantly, "now you will bow to your opponent."

Again, per customs, Hermione gave her opponent a proper bow. Per habits, she still made sure to keep her eyes on her opponent at all times.

Malfoy didn't bow, and merely jerked his head rudely when urged by Flitwick and Snape.

Flitwick sighed. "And now you will begin on three. One... two..."

"Expelliarmus!" Malfoy shouted on two.

"He cheated!" shouted Harry, but Hermione had already dodged the spell and returned her own. Malfoy gasped and dodged the disarming spell with difficulty, nearly falling over in the process. "Flipendo!" Malfoy shouted, his pale face flushed with rage, then drained with surprise as Hermione's shield charm deflected it directly back toward him. Unprepared for this, he was hit squarely in the chest. He looked a bit dazed, she saw, but as expected there wasn't enough power in his original spell for the weakened rebound to knock him off his feet. Throwing an arm out to regain his balance, Malfoy gritted his teeth and shot a pus-squirting hex, a cutting hex and a head-swelling hex at her - all of which she'd redirected to the ground near his feet, knowing that their effects would not be pretty. Eventually, Malfoy was hit squarely in the forehead by a rebounding stinging charm. "Expelliamus," she cast as Malfoy automatically raised his wand hand to touch the sting, and watched his hawthorn wand fly into her waiting hand.

"Excellent casting of the disarming spell, Miss Granger! And the shield charm, a third year level spell, as well!" Applauded Flitwick, taking Malfoy's wand from her and returning it to its sullen and red-faced owner. "And while Mr. Malfoy's spells rebounded, they were obviously quite well cast. Bravo to both our student volunteers! Now -"

"Professor Snape's Draco's second!" Shouted Goyle before Flitwick could move on, "Granger has to duel him still!"

And the Great Hall suddenly quieted at this surprising prospect sunk in. A student was supposed to duel a professor?

It was necessary by the rules of duelling, of course. As challenger, she was required to face her opponent's second, no matter who he was. Now, she could simply stand there and let herself get hit - since Snape would be only aiming to disarm at first. But on the other hand, some semblance of a duel with Severus could be educational for her. Her opportunities to practice with a live opponent was scarce, and as Godric's philosophy rightly maintained, practical experience was highly important too.

"Indeed," muttered Snape. "Hermione Granger, I take Draco Malfoy's place as your opponent."

They both bowed and began with a round of disarming spells. All were dodged, even as the firing rate steadily increased on both sides and Snape began to cast nonverbally. Clearly, more varied attacks must be used, or the duel would likely drag on till past midnight.

Eventually, Snape cast a very small nonverbal blasting spell at her. Having expected some sort of relatively wide-area spell to end the endless game of dodging by now, Hermione was able to easily brace herself behind a shield charm before the spell impacted. Still dodging her "expelliarmus", Snape shot three targeted spells at her in quick succession before casting _confringo _again, but stronger this time. These, too, were either dodged or blocked. Snape didn't use the shield charm against her spells, preferring to dodge them instead so that he could free up his wand to attack and end the duel. Hermione observed his eyes narrow slightly in concentration as his casting pattern gradually became more and more complex.

Snape was starting to cast what should be another wide-area spell, judging by his attack pattern and the slight variation in his wand movement. And Hermione was preparing to cast a shield to counter it, when she thought she saw wands being raised in the corner of her eyes. She was no stranger to ambush, having had a fair share of first kidnappers, then assassins, in her previous life. And so even before her would be attackers could start to speak the incantation of their spells, her left hand already shifted by instinct to cast a second shield...

... But she wasn't supposed to cast wandlessly or silently, she suddenly realized, just in time to stop herself. She'd have to dodge, then... But her first shield wasn't supposed to be strong enough to withstand the impact from both sides either, so she'd have to worry about Snape's oncoming spell as well...?

She heard the muttered spells now among the hushed audience, and knew that she was running out of time - but somehow, her brain felt as it it'd sunk into molasses, and simply throbbed in protest as she urged it to run faster. How in the seven hells was this happening? No - focus!

The shield shattered, and an incredible wave of pain rippled and reverberated through her chest and back. As her world flashed white, then faded to black, the last thought on her distracted mind was,

_'I really need to sleep.'_

* * *

Why? Why? Why?!

What in Salazar's name possessed him to use the blasting curse on a student?!

Ignoring the screams from the students, Severus dashed to the other end of the duelling platform. The girl was breathing steadily enough, he saw with relief. No broken ribs either - at least not on the front. It was fortunate that she'd managed to protect herself from the brunt of his spell before her shield failed...

_'And of course it would shatter!'_ The largest part of his mind berated him, _'That was your objective__, wasn't it? Are you proud of yourself, Professor Snape?'_

Yes, what the hell was he even trying to do in the first place? He'd been only aiming to disarm her so that they could finish this stupid duel that Malfoy's brat had roped him into quickly, but somehow she kept either dodging or shielding. So he slowly increased power to knock her off balance first. He did.

_'But don't you realize that you could've just ended the duel any time by simply standing still? You only had to duel, not duel to win!'_ His mind was yelling at him again with staggering wisdom that, he wished, could've made itself present sooner, '_She was only casting expelliarmus at you anyways! How much would that hurt?'_

And then the remainder of his spell pushed her backward into the path of three bludgeoning hexes that would've otherwise missed - courtesy of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

In the background, Severus could vaguely make out Filius shrieking at Malfoy for attacking a classmate behind their back, Potter giving Malfoy a faceful of bat bogey hex while claiming that it was his right to do so as Granger's second - then disarming Malfoy before he could retaliate, and Filius holding Crabbe and Goyle back before they could jump on Potter in retaliation. Severus would deal with those three brats later... But he couldn't say it was all their fault, Severus shamefully remembered. His own lapse of judgement was to blame for this as well. Three students attacked their classmate right under his nose, and he was... too preoccupied duelling a twelve-year-old?

Severus gently levitated the girl to take her to the hospital wing. She looked as it she could be waken, but it was better to be careful.

"Oh dear, dear, dear!" Lockhart seemed to have climbed onto the duelling platform as well. "Allow me -"

"No, Poppy is capable of take care of her," Severus pushed past him distractedly,

" - Rennervate!"

The spell made a sickening whip-like crack through the air.

Instead of waking, Granger gave a strangled gasp before her head rolled back to the side. "Ah, s-seems she's too hurt to be waken, eh?" Lockhart shuffled back when Severus rounded on him, "better take her to the hospital wing, Severus..."

Severus barely refrained from informing Lockhart just how fortunate he was that levitation required the use of a wand, and headed for the hospital wing without delay. There, he gave a fairly complete account of what happened to a shocked Poppy as she conducted a more thorough diagnosis.

"There is a large bruise across her entire chest, and two broken ribs near her back. Poor dear, being sledged from both sides," said Poppy once she reappeared from behind the drawn curtains.

"That's all, right? But you can heal bones easily, yes?"

"I can, and I did," Poppy looked exasperated, "but they'd already punctured her lungs before she's brought here. She's also hemorrhaging at a surprisingly high rate. That'll be Lockhart's doing, I suppose. Some expert he turned out to be, can't even cast a simple _rennervate _right..."

"Seems that whatever's given him his knowledge couldn't give him the practical skills to match," Severus muttered. "I was surprised that he didn't want to duel one of us to show off, but now his reason is obvious."

"I've given her a blood replenishing potion and a healing potion. I'll see if I can do something more for her lungs, and then she'll have to lay still for a day or two... Are you going to continue with the duelling club?" Poppy crossed her arms, "Quidditch is trouble enough, and now this,"

"It won't happen again," Severus promised. He certainly won't be duelling any more students.

Why did he even consent to the duel anyways? He'd agreed to be Malfoy's "second", a whimsical request that he didn't think would come to anything. But even if it was duelling convention for him to take over for Malfoy, he could still refuse as professor. He could say that some rules didn't apply to a practice duel - especially since Filius had already returned Malfoy's wand, or anything if he needed to. But he'd still went alone with it, partly because he wasn't keen on disappointing Malfoy.

But mostly because Granger didn't object.

She hadn't protested that the setup clearly wasn't fair to her, or even flinch at the notion of duelling the "evil" professor, he realized. Potter, Weasley, and Longbottom did look apprehensive on her behalf, but Granger just... bowed calmly and went right ahead?

Severus glanced toward the white curtains that hid the young muggleborn potion prodigy from view. Had she been so vain as to think that she could duel an adult? Severus highly doubted it, but even if she did, he would have to admit that her arrogance was understandable. He honestly hadn't expected her to last longer than five seconds, but instead she'd held out for almost twenty minutes using only _expelliarmus _and _protego_. True, a half-decent adult opponent would've overpowered her shield from the start, but Granger was unarguably skilled for a student.

Or had she trusted that Severus, as a professor, would not hurt her? There were preciously few students who would share this sentiment, especially in her house...

Presently Poppy had nothing else to ask him, and so wasted no time in shushing him out of the hospital wing. Severus headed for his office in the dungeons - Filius would've dismissed the students by now, so there was no point going back to the Great Hall. He ignored the Potion Master, whose portrait guarded the secret passageway, when asked about the duelling club. It was rather rude, especially to the only other person at Hogwarts - living or not - who could actually hold a meaningful discussion on the magical properties of various substances, but Severus really wasn't in the mood to chat.

Sitting alone in his office didn't improve his mood either, as it gave him more time to think and appreciate the full implications of this incident.

Over the past year or so, by some fortune, a fragile, shaky tolerance had been slowly forming between the other three Houses and his own. Over his time at Hogwarts, Severus had seem many attempts by students, teachers and headmasters alike to bridge the divide, but those were doomed from the start like twigs in a torrent. Never before had things clicked into place as well as now, with singular "twigs" interlocking and strengthening each other until they just might form a scaffold - one that Severus did everything allowed by his circumstances to reinforce. Never before had it seemed so possible that the poisonous rivalry between the Hogwart Houses could end once and for all, and Severus sincerely doubted that such an opportunity would arise again.

Unfortunately, Granger's injury at the hands of three Slytherins - four if he included himself - would be the spark that burned this fragile network of twigs to ashes.

Tomorrow, three-quarters of the Hogwarts student body would be slinging insults and possibly hexes at the "slimy, conniving snakes". Malfoy would sneer at them and say something along the lines of "the mudblood got what she deserved". The rest of the Slytherins would be forced to defend Malfoy - because any fool could see that Malfoy was arguably the most influential person in his House, and no one would risk being ostracized by their own house in exchange of dubious acceptance from the other side. The rest of the student body would then scream that the slimy snakes are all the same - evil, dark wizards, Death Eaters, etc. etc.

And they would be back to where they started. Severus sighed.

A small knock sounded at his door, and Severus called for his visitor to enter.

"Professor, I'd like to know if Granger's alright."

"Two broken bones and a punctured lung," Severus recited truthfully. Theodore Nott was another interesting one. While the children had been understandably secretive, it did not escape Severus' attention that Nott, Zabini, Greengrass and Granger were close friends. And while the ludicrous notion that Minerva had nagged him into investigating was completely ridiculous, Severus strongly suspected that it wasn't completely ungrounded... "Knowing Madame Pomfrey's efficacy, she should be fine by the day after tomorrow."

"I see. Thank you, sir."

"Before you go, Mr. Nott, what's happening now in the Slytherin common room?"

"Everyone's trying to find out what other people think about Malfoy and the duelling club without saying too much, I believe."

Severus nodded. "Curfew begins in five minutes, Mr. Nott. I advise you to return to the common room immediately. Goodnight."

The small, reticent second-year Slytherin nodded simply and shut the door behind him, leaving Severus alone to his thoughts and his slowly forming list of everyone he should keep an eye out for in the near future. So far, it consisted of Potter, Albus, Lockhart, the ghosts, Granger, and the Gryffindors. And definitely his Slytherins - with especial attention to select individuals...

_'And what would you say, Lily? Will we ever learn?'_

* * *

**A.N.: ****Thanks for all the suggestions on how to get Sally hospitalized XD (Loool that sounds a bit sadistic, but I think it'll be worth it.) **


	37. Year 2: Chapter 11

If there was anyone Draco Malfoy hated the most in the school, the first would be scarhead Potter - the famous Boy-Who-Lived. Draco hated how people gasped when they hear his name, how the professors loved him, how the first years simply admired him. He hated how Potter was able to play Quidditch in first year, and Draco wasn't. How could Potter get better treatment than him? He was a _Malfoy_, for Merlin's sake!

The second would be Granger.

Draco couldn't say what, but there was always something about her that ticked him off. Maybe he wouldn't have hated her so much if in the first potion class, she had just quailed in front of her betters like she should. Or looked hurt when he'd called her a mudblood. Or winced. Or anything, other than sitting there with that infuriating half-smile.

Maybe her calmness was what made her so irritating. Sometimes, Draco would even get a crazy notion - that she thought he wasn't worth reacting to! Draco didn't know who she thought she was, because he was clearly superior to her. He was heir Malfoy, the richest and most influential family in magical Britain. He lived in a mansion, with five house elves at his bidding. His father had the ministry and the school's board of governors wrapped around his finger. His father could get him almost anything he wanted.

Granger was a mudblood. Yes, Draco knew Salazar Slytherin said that mudbloods should be welcomed, but clearly they would never be nearly as good as him. Because when they had no prestige to their name, when his father was worth ten times more than their fathers, what chance did they have? What did Granger have to be proud of?

But somehow, Granger never broke composure. Not when he took her loser friend Longbottom's rememberall. Not when he'd tried to flick puffer-fish eyes into her cauldron in potion class. Not even when he pelted her with the best curses he'd learned from older Slytherins and from the Malfoy library. He still had no idea how he'd lost that duel. How dare someone as _common_ as her beat him, a _Malfoy_?

He didn't even get to see fright on her face when his spell hit her. She'd been facing away from him.

And somehow, the sight of her lying still on the floor of the duelling platform didn't make him feel good either.

He tried to squeeze as much satisfaction from it as he could - since he'd already lost Slytherin 400 points for it, as well as earned himself weekly detentions all the way up to Christmas. He tried to get people to laugh at how spectacularly Granger lost, but no one seemed to find it very funny because really, what would you expect when you pit a second year against a professor? Then he tried to get his fellow Slytherins to say that Granger's been taught her place, but somehow the conversation kept being diverted, and always managing to end with concerned inquiries to how his forehead must've hurt from the stinging hex. Draco didn't like this at all. Slytherins were subtle people. They still acted the same as they always did, as long as he steered clear of the last five minutes of the duelling club, but Draco could tell that something was not right. It almost felt as if they were starting to not listen to him! Weren't they all clambering over themselves to please him last year around this time? Didn't they know they have to get on his good side, or they wouldn't be invited to his father's winter ball?

Later that evening, Snape had called him, Crabbe and Goyle to his office without any notice or elaboration beforehand. There, they had been silently asked to sit, again with no explanations given. Draco was forced to look down to avoid the gaze of the black eyes that bored into him from across the table. There was a reason Snape was the Slytherin Head of House.

"Do you three know why you are not expelled yet?" Professor Snape finally began, in a perfectly neutral tone.

Crabbe and Goyle actually looked at each other and shook their heads, the idiots.

"Because Madame Pomfrey conducted a detailed analysis of Granger's injury and determined that even together, your three bludgeoning hexes would've been too weak to do any more than create some painful bruises. It was only due to your unfortunate timing and positioning with my spell that Granger's ribs were cracked, and only due to Lockhart's miscast spell that she requires any amount of hospitalization at all.

"You are still here, Draco, not because the professors are afraid of you or your father. You are still here only because they do not yet consider you a danger. _For your own sake, _all three of you should remember this. As you grow older, there will be consequences to acts like this - Azkaban, for example, and even your fathers' name will not excuse you."

In other words, he hadn't gotten away with anything. But of course they would say that, wouldn't they? In reality, they all knew father would have them fired if they dared expel Draco, right?

So why was he so afraid to meet Professor Snape's eyes, and why had he not written home yet?

But Draco didn't dwell too much on these thoughts when there were much better things to think about - namely the Quidditch match tomorrow, and how he would bask in the glory as Slytherin's hero. How the whole house would gather around him like Gryffindor had done for Potter. At least his classmates were still enthusiastic when they talked about Quidditch. Avery, Pike, Nott and Zabini wished him luck. Pansy, Tracy and Daphne insisted that he didn't need it, because he would catch the snitch in no time. Crabbe and Goyle smirked widely and nodded along, though in Draco's opinion they'd nod along with anything. Flint whispered that he had access to a decent source of butterbeer, and that Draco could look forward to it at the victory party.

Draco had only the slightest hint of a feeling that perhaps their intention was to distract him with Quidditch, but that flickered out as quickly as it came.

And so on the morning of the game, Draco strolled in to the Great Hall, full of excitement. There, he was greeted by his house, and accepted two slices of toast buttered for him by Pansy. After he finished, Crabbe and Goyle dutifully picked up their unfinished food to follow him to the Quidditch field. As he was left, he heard the mudblood Thomas talking to Potter not far behind: "Hey Harry, good luck on the game! You know, I still kept the banner of the lion eating a snake from last year. Shall we bring it out today?"

"Let's not," came saint Potter's reply, "It'll be mean, and Malfoy doesn't represent the Slytherins at all. I mean, Theodore, Blaise and Daphne are all really nice. I'm sure they didn't like what Malfoy did yesterday anymore than we did..."

Ha! Who was Potter to say things like that? Gryffindor's _Golden Boy _certainly did like to kid himself. Draco would ask Nott, Zabini and Daphne about what they thought of Potter and his fan club at the victory party - no, as the team carries him back to the castle on their shoulders. Then they'd all see how _Slytherin _they really were.

Still smirking, Draco met his team in the changing room and put on his emerald Quidditch robes. He held his head high as he marched out to the field, to the cheering of the Slytherin section of the benches. As the captains shook hands, Draco caught Potter's gaze for half a second. Draco sneered. Potter returned a hateful glare that actually bordered on murderous.

Then they'd kicked off, and everything began to go downhill.

Draco searched for the snitch while deliberately swooping around the field to show Potter how brilliant his new broom was, but it was starting to rain and making it difficult to distinguish the fluttering of wings or the glittering of the gold. At least Potter wasn't having any more luck, especially with his glasses and the Weasley twins circling him. Presently, Draco's nenemis seemed to be dodging a bludger that just seemed to have it in for him.

But even as Draco laughed at his predicament, he found that it was becoming increasingly difficult to deny that there was a reason Potter had been chosen as seeker even as a first year. And Draco found himself realizing that even on his newer, better broom, he might not be able to swerve quickly enough to dodge that bludger.

The Weasleys were no longer hovering around Potter now, having apparently decided that the rest of the team needed protecting too. This gave Draco an unobstructed view of Potter just in time to see him do a hilariously stupid sort of twirl through the air. "Trained for the ballet, Potter?"

Potter turned his head to glare, before suddenly swerving to the left and gaining speed. He must've seen the snitch! Wasting no time, Draco chased after him. Potter was fast, but the Nimbus 2001 did have certain improvements. Draco leaned forward with anticipation. They were almost neck to neck now, and soon enough he would over take him -

But then Potter suddenly did a sharp flip and doubled back.

"What the -" Draco barely managed to say, before the bludger slammed into his back and he felt himself fall...

...

"... almost the same injury as her, isn't it?"

"... except not as bad, because Lockhart didn't ..."

"... Malfoy and Potter are lucky... didn't have to suffer that fool...call himself a professor... nerve to come and put a note under her pillow..."

"... you think Potter did this just to shake off the bludger, or because of yesterday?"

"Oh, he's awake. He's awake."

Draco woke in one of the white beds of the hospital wing, wincing, and opened his eyes to the sight of his housemates hurrying over to him. Avery filled him in on what happened. Apparently one of the bludgers had been jinxed to target Potter specifically. Potter had, in what Avery called a surprising display of Slytherin cunning, apparently decided that he had no chance unless he took the other seeker out - though Pike and Zabini didn't quite believe this interpretation. Either way, Draco, who'd thought he'd seen the snitch, followed him and got wiped out by the bludger instead. Professor Snape had saved Draco, of course, causing him to just float down slowly rather than crash. Meanwhile, Potter continued to loop and swirl to dodge the bludger. He did eventually catch the snitch in the gulley somewhere, but not before the bludger broke his elbow.

So now both seekers were lying in the infirmatory. (Though Madame Pomfrey had sensibly put them as far from each other as possible, perhaps because both of them had a rather large entourage of visitors accompanying them.) Madame Pomfrey had already healed them. Apparently Lockhart had also offered to heal them on their way up, but thankfully Professor Snape had shouted "Protego" before he could even get a word out. The embarrassed look on his face, Avery swore, had been hilarious.

But Draco didn't exactly feel like laughing right now. This wasn't how he wanted the game to go. And though that wasn't going to stop him from milking this injury for all it's worth, there would be no victory party. All because he fell for Potter's trick, which funnily enough didn't even count as cheating.

He wanted to be carried back a champion, not an invalid. He wanted his whole House to shake his hand and gather around him with awe. Well, all the Slytherin second years were here now, as opposed to just the Gryffindor Quidditch team for Potter. This made him smirk smugly for a moment, until he noticed how every once in a while, someone's eyes would flicker to the third occupied bed in the hospital wing when they thought he wasn't looking.

And Draco had a tiny suspicion that perhaps for many of them, visiting him was an excuse to be inside the hospital wing so that they might have a chance to see a certain someone else. This time, it didn't flicker out.

Well, there was one way to fix that.

Draco laughed loudly. "Nott, I heard something else that's hilarious today. Pothead over there seems to think you were going to defend the mudblood yesterday!"

Even Draco was surprised with the effect of his own words. In the blink of an eye, the room had went dead silent, so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Everyone froze. Even Potter, who'd just woken as well, sat up and turned toward Draco in surprise. Granger didn't move. She was probably under the effect of some potion still.

Nott cocked his head. "Come again, Malfoy?"

Translation: Are you sure you want to ask that? And are you sure you want to ask that here?

Well, sure he did. "I asked, Nott, if you're friends with Potty, Weasel and the mudblood."

Now everyone was waiting with bated breath. The Slytherins looked simultaneously surprised, curious, and something else that Draco couldn't place his finger on. The Gryffindors looked dubious. And Potter was staring at Nott nervously but expectantly. It was blatantly obvious now that whatever Nott say next would have dramatic reactions. And there would be no taking it back.

And throughout all this, Theodore Nott glanced around once, calmly, giving nothing away. "Well, since you're so interested, Malfoy," he finally said, and Draco was struck by how the silkiness of his tone reminded him of father and Snape and, somehow... Granger? "While I'd rather not associate myself with Ronald Weasley - no offense - Zabini, Greengrass and I are in fact close friends with Harry Potter. We are also close friends with Sally Granger, who I believe is the _muggleborn_ you're referring to. And while we're on that topic, Malfoy, we think what you did to Sal at the duelling club was utterly despicable."

What? Nott had to be joking, right? Any second now he would burst out laughing at how Potter was stupid to even believe that, right?

"It's true," said Zabini, "none of us wanted to say it yesterday, but since you insist on bringing it up..." He shrugged.

_What? _How could they side with her instead of him, a Malfoy and a fellow Slytherin? Draco's jaw dropped. "But she's a mudblood! Why do you care? I didn't think you would stoop so low, Nott!"

"Because Sal is smart, caring, and a great friend, Malfoy." Greengrass crossed her arms, "and because we're not a house of crooks and villains. Honestly, dirty tricks like this is part of the reason why our house got such a bad rep! And just after the Baron showed us what we used to be, just when we have a chance to make friends outside our house, you want them to forever remember us as the house that attack people behind their backs?"

The room was still silent. The other Slytherins, Draco noticed, were watching the exchange like spectators at a duel - a duel that was starting to feel rather lopsided. Why wasn't anyone speaking on _his _behalf? Draco looked to Crabbe and Goyle for assistance, an act that turned out to be pointless because the two morons apparently only had one programmed response - crack their knuckles and look menacing. Nott merely spared them a condescending glance.

On his right, Pansy was opening and closing her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but couldn't think of anything else to say.

"What about Slytherin unity?" Draco shouted, "What's wrong with you lot?"

"Well Slytherin refuses to stand by your rash decision to attack someone behind the back, on stage, just because you lost a duel," said Zabini coolly.

_This _finally stirred the rest of the Slytherins out of their spectatorship. "Indeed," Pike nodded, "it was very un-Slytherin of you, Malfoy."

"Yeah, were you even thinking?"

"And it was a direct breach of duelling etiquette too! It'll bring shame to our family names!"

"You can't rope all of us into this, Draco!"

Draco looked around at his murmuring housemates desperately. He didn't even want to see what the Gryffindors' expressions were. "You choose the Gryffindors over us!"

"No, Draco," said Tracy Davis quietly.

"Because the ultimatum is actually _everyone else__, Harry Potter, Sal, Nott, Zabini, Greengrass _or _you,_ mate," Avery told him, "We all want a unified Slytherin House. Please don't make us choose, mate."

Translation: You're still valuable to us, but if it really comes down to that, you won't like our decision.

"I hope Sal gets well soon," Daphne told the Gryffindors. This time, there were nods all around.

"Come and find us when you're ready, Malfoy," said Zabini, before he, Nott and Greengrass made their exit after giving _everyone _in the hospital wing one last sweeping glance. The rest of the Slytherins slowly trickled out after them. Potter and the Gryffindors gave him an awkward look, before thankfully shuffling out as well.

Translation: You know where we stand. Whether you still want to be friends is up to you now.

Eventually, Pansy was the only ones left by his bed, apart from Crabbe and Goyle. She swallowed. "See you later, Draco?"

Draco nodded numbly, staring after her as she left, before gathering his things from his bedside and quietly slipping out as well. He'd never felt so lost.

But at least they hadn't cast him out. He'd lost - and he wasn't even sure how much or to whom, but they were still willing to have him back as long as he could accept it and move on. And Draco Malfoy wasn't stupid. He knew he had to figure out what he'd done wrong, and then...

Draco looked over at Granger's bed in the furthest corner.

He'd have to make amends.

* * *

**A.N.: I originally wanted Draco to do something more dramatic in the hospital wing, but then I realized that he would look too much of a monster after the duelling club. Ah well...**


	38. Year 2: Chapter 12

Should an outsider somehow manage to peek into the Slytherin common room, Blaise decided, he would find very little out of ordinary this evening. The green fire burned steadily, the long, black sofas were occupied by the usual groups of people, and the circles of students were going about their usual business - plus quiet conversations on the side, as always.

But for Blaise, the second year circle looked very different from the center than from the edge.

He still found it hard to believe his luck. Certainly, he'd always wanted to sit here - or more realistically, relatively close to here, but he knew it would be very hard for a "newcomer" like himself. People knew of his mum (one might even call her infamous actually, he snorted), but she hadn't gone to school with their parents. Most of the other Slytherins - the old names like Malfoy - pretty much grew up together at their parents' parties, but Blaise hadn't known anybody until after his sorting.

But now, somehow, he and his friends managed to shake up the power structure so much that Malfoy had been knocked off his throne. And miraculously, he'd really done it!

"Parvati smiled at me today," Davis informed them, "I do believe the rumour mill has started."

"I do kind of miss playing dress up with her, Padma and Hannah," Parkinson seemed to debate with herself, before finally admitting softly.

"I can arrange a get together for us this Sunday. It'll be great!" smiled Daphne. She was currently seated on Blaise's right. Theo was seated on her right. "Millie, I don't think you've really met them yet. Why don't you come along, and we can introduce you."

"Ah, then we'll count on Queen Daphne to work her magic," said Bulstrode, leaning back and relaxing against the leather. "Frankly, I'd rather sit with you three than Malfoy. He keeps trying to imply that I'm ugly whenever he talks to me."

Blaise nodded sympathetically, and pretended not to notice Avery's tiny, inconspicuous but decidedly guilty gulp. Of course, none of the Slytherins could truthfully claim they'd never spoken ill of anyone. But Malfoy, who insulted people left and right, to their face or behind their back, was a whole new level of irritating. Blaise had no doubt that if _he_ acted like Malfoy, no one would've put up with him for half a minute.

Blaise whistled under his breath. "Blimey, Malfoy's really managed to offend the whole House at some point of the other, hasn't he? I hope he'd stop being a prat and strutting around as if he owns us, because he doesn't." This was met with sincere nods all around. "Hear, hear," said Terence Higgs, who was passing by on his way to join the rest of the fourth years. Blaise remembered he was Slytherin's Seeker before he got replaced by Malfoy.

And thus officially concludes Malfoy's reign over Slytherin House, Blaise thought. He really had it coming.

"So, you lot replaced Malfoy, huh?" Adrian Pucey, who was a fellow fourth year and Quidditch player of Higgs's, looked up with interest. "It's true then, what I've been hearing all day?"

"Depends on what you've heard, but I believe so," said Theo casually.

"Malfoy's not going to be happy about this, of course," chuckled Graham Montague with a few other third years, "he's going to be so pissed at the next Quidditch practice. Who wants to bet that he throws a tantrum?"

The chuckle was echoed around the room. Apparently the idea of Malfoy throwing a tantrum wasn't too hard to imagine. "To be honest, I'm rather surprise he hadn't threatened to not invite us to his family's winter ball," said Davis.

"True," Pike sighed, "no access to Malfoy's father's connections would be a big loss for us. And I was hoping his father could get me in to the ministry..."

"But at least for me," Avery commented candidly, "riding on the coat tail of a coat-tail rider isn't enough. Malfoy whines to his father for everything, but even Lucius Malfoy can only get him so far. You three though," he shrugged, "you're clearly going places. Between Blaise, Greengrass and Nott, you've obviously got no shortage of family background, capital, charisma, brains or talent. Obviously it'll be better for everyone if Malfoy comes back sensible, but I'd say I value your friendships more than his."

"How very reasonable of you, Avery," said Davis.

"Thank you. I am a Slytherin."

"I wonder about Granger, though," MacDougal tapped his chin curiously, "she - Sal - must've been something really special, if you became friends with her. We already know she's a prodigy, of course. Tied with Nott for top place last year, wasn't she?"

Blaise tried to think of how best to sum up the many things that made Sal stand out, in a way that would interest his housemates the most. Should he mention her familiarity with magical traditions? That she didn't seem to be repelled by the dark arts even from the start? That she didn't mind talking to the supposed "enemy house"? Her charisma? Her grace and mannerism?

Of course, there was also how Sal had stood by him, Daphne and Theo when Ron Weasley had insulted them, or just the general feeling of assurance that he'd sometimes get around her. These things he wouldn't mention to his housemates. It probably wouldn't add to his argument.

"Sal ended up in Gryffindor, but I'm willing to bet a thousand galleons that the Sorting Hat seriously considered sorting her in Slytherin." Theo said.

Sal, in Slytherin? That idea had never occurred to Blaise. He hadn't seen Sal demand any favours from anyone, and she didn't seem to really really want anything either. And he definitely couldn't imagine any Slytherin spending so much time on helping a stranger - at the time - with potion essays, for free. Regardless, it had been the perfect thing to say, Blaise thought as he mentally congratulated Theo. Very little else could've spiked their housemates' interest even higher than it already was.

"Intriguing," muttered Avery.

"Quite," nodded Bulstrode, "I think I'd like to talk to her sometimes."

Which reminded Blaise. Unlike Theo or Daphne, who already had deep roots in the Slytherin hierarchy, people were still not used to taking "Zabini" too seriously. Which meant that Blaise had to put in much more effort to ensure that he wouldn't be gradually pushed back to the peripheries again.

And what better way to cement his newly gained influence, than to exercise it?

"You know, guys, for our own safety," Standing up, Blaise spoke so that his voice carried to the entire common room. He wasn't exactly counting on the older students' attention, actually, but there was no harm in speaking a little louder. "We need to do something about that safety hazard named Lockhart..."

* * *

Draco opened the door to the hospital wing, quietly - partly so as not to attract the attention of the formidable Madame Pomfrey, but mostly to leave himself the option of turning back.

He wasn't completely sure why he wandered up here. Ever since he'd left in the morning, his feet seemed to have been carrying him on their own, about the usual routine: go to class, sit down and listen to the teacher like his classmates, get up when dismissed, walk with Crabbe and Goyle to the dining table, chat about something safe, then get up and repeat the process again... But by the time they'd normally head back to the common room, Draco told Crabbe and Goyle to meet him later. He wasn't ready to go back yet.

The room was silent, he realized with relief. Perhaps it was empty, and he could go back telling himself that this was all a waste of time? But that hope was dashed when he finally made himself look at the bed in the furthest corner. Unfortunately, yet thankfully, she was still there.

But she was still asleep though, so Draco dared to shuffle a little closer, then a little closer.

He still felt as if he was thrashing around in a thick mist, with no sense of direction, but at least some things were becoming more clear to him since the morning. Firstly, the power hierarchy in Slytherin house had been irreversibly altered. Nott, Greengrass and Zabini had replaced him, and they were there to stay.

Secondly, his place at the top of the power hierarchy in Slytherin house had never been absolute in the first place.

He'd never realized this until after Avery's parting advice. True, as a Malfoy, he'd entered Hogwarts as the most valuable Slytherin of his year. He had the most money, a powerful father, and knew the most people. Some of the others, such as Zabini, had next to nothing compared to him. But throughout the year, Zabini had successfully inserted himself into their circle. Greengrass became everybody's friend. Nott became one of the professors' favourites despite being in Slytherin. And meanwhile, Draco had been bullying people around. It made him feel like a king, seeing people get all offended but couldn't do anything to him, but it slowly eroded the friendships he'd started out with - no, more like pseudo-friendships probably. If he'd been in their shoes, Draco mulled over the depressing idea, he would've never really liked himself either.

When he looked at it this way, it wasn't all that surprising that people would stop following him sooner or later.

Which lead to the third realization. He would have to make himself worth people's while. His father's power and wealth would help, of course, but clearly it would no longer be enough. He needed to be good at something, do something for himself as well, if he wanted people's respect... Perhaps he could start with Quidditch? He loved that sport. His father had set him on a good start by putting him on team, but he would use the opportunity to train and familiarize himself with all the strategies possible. And he would _become _better than any Seeker Slytherin's ever had. Perhaps he'd even be the first one to beat Potter. But he should spend more time on the other things he cared about as well... like learning spells? He knew it was too early to hope to surpass Nott or, as much as he loath to admit it, Granger, but it was no reason not to develop his own skills.

And of course, he had to stop being mean to people for no reason. It had been very un-Slytherin of him to do something that was all harm and no real benefit, but he knew better now. Over time, he hoped people would start to really care for him as a person, and not just a way to get closer to his father.

Fourthly, there was one thing he could do immediately, that could improve his re-integration into the newly reorganized Slytherin house by three-folds.

He knew that an introduction, or re-introduction in his case, would go a long way - especially from someone important. But he wouldn't count on Nott, Zabini, or even Greengrass to do this for him. Emotionally, he'd insulted their friend, pretty much just declared war on them, then tried to turn the other Slytherins against them. Rationally, he was a threat to their new influence, and they had everything to gain in keeping him from climbing back to the top. Draco was out of luck either way. But there was one other who was both in a position to make a difference, and who just might be willing to help him. Granger - Sal.

Unlike the others, Sal - and it made Draco feel better to call her that, as he could almost pretend she was someone else - didn't have anything to lose. Plus, she was a Gryffindor. That meant she didn't necessarily hold grudges like he suspected most of the Slytherins would, and might be quicker to forgive. Besides, weren't they supposed to be saints or something? Or was that the Hufflepuffs? Either way, she was his best bet, and hence why he was here.

Draco didn't think of himself as a very brave person, and so he was glad that Sal was still fast asleep. If she'd showed any sign of consciousness, he would've probably bolted from the room and never to return. But she didn't, so Draco was able to make himself stay long enough to write a note on a clean sheet of parchment and place it by her bed. An apology, that he hoped she'd accept. And maybe, if he was lucky, she would convince the others that he'd changed - something he didn't quite have the courage to do himself...

He paused for some time, staring at the neatly folded parchment. It was securely placed on a corner of the small table, neither too conspicuous or too easily overlooked. And he really should go back, now, before he could decide to snatch it up and destroy all evidence of its existence.

Draco Malfoy left the hospital wing for the second time that day, feeling no less unnerved than he was in the morning.

But at least he was no longer lost.


	39. Year 2: Chapter 13

Hermione woke to golden sunrays, falling comfortably over her face and her blanket. Judging by the angle at which they beamed in through the window, she would guess that it was around 8:00 AM. After dressing, Hermione acquired Madam Pomfrey's permission to attend class before leaving to retrieve her book bag from her dormitory.

The potions had made her very drowsy, and she'd been drifting in and out of sleep for most of yesterday. Still, nothing short of a large overdose of sleeping potion would've kept her from being woken by all the commotion after the Quidditch match. She'd allowed them to think she was unaware of their presence, partly because her vision still swam whenever she tried to open her eyes, and partly because things were playing out nicely on its own. She had been worried that the duelling club incident would force the school into an ultimatum too soon - a mistake on her part that could've been detrimental, but her little snakes had truly exceeded her expectations.

And they would be great, she knew. She'd never been more certain.

Most of all, she was pleasantly surprised by the decision of Draco Malfoy. When she'd woken to find him standing over her - she wasn't sure what time it was then, she'd already surreptitiously trained her wand (which she'd slipped back into her sleeve at first chance) on him from beneath her blanket, half expecting him to hex her again for losing him his supporters. But ultimately, Draco proved himself to be more sensible than she'd previously thought, and she was glad for him. She knew why he apologized, of course: something like nineteen part practicality and one part guilt. He'd realized that making up with her could possibly give him a better chance of reconciling with the others - especially Theo, Blaise and Daphne. Moreover, he now respected her intelligence enough to take some care in writing his note. This itself was a commendable improvement.

She would let people know that he was sorry, perhaps even bring up the possibility that he could change his ways. She still have a vested interest in Draco's well-being, as with all the other students in Slytherin House. Not to mention that she still needed material to show her house in a better light. Of course, Blaise, Daphne and Theo would realize that she liked Draco Malfoy just about as much as they liked Ron Weasley, but Draco wouldn't be too disappointed on the whole.

The open corridor that joined the towers smelled of fresh morning dew, she noted pleasantly. It really did feel good to be well rested. With such an ample supply of invigoration draughts at her disposal, it had been too easy to forget that a twelve-year-old's body cannot sustain the same working hours that Salazar had grown accustomed to. Nevertheless, while potions could induce alertness temporarily, they were useless against the symptoms of missing sleep in the long term - that is, slowed reaction, reduced creativity and memory, and poorer fitness in general. She was juggling too many things at once, and there was simply too little time.

She would have to prioritize. The horcrux, her research, and even a portion of her daily training may have to wait while she deal with Lockhart, which meant this whole business with Lockhart had to be wrapped up very soon. She'd more or less gotten from him what she needed, and the benefits of any further investment of her time in him no longer outweighed the cost.

Not to mention, she was very displeased to be the victim of his attempt to show off.

Meanwhile, it seemed that Lockhart hadn't been holding out too well. Hermione nearly chuckled out loud as she scanned the large loopy writing, sentences long and short, while helping herself to toast and strawberries at breakfast. It consisted of something like:

_'Salazar, you didn't give me the lesson notes for today yet. You didn't forget, right?'_

_'Salazar?'_

_'Salazar why aren't you replying?'_

_'Salazar what do I do? The Quidditch match is almost over!'_

_'Salazar, help me! Everyone's giving me these looks at lunch, and then Peeves lobbed a dozen dungbombs over my head and now my beautiful hair stinks! And it won't come off no matter how much I wash it! What do I do? Those things are abominations! Where did he get those from anyways? I can't leave my room like this!'_

_'Salazar! I've spent the whole afternoon and evening in the bathroom, and the stink still won't come off! What do I do?'_

_'Are you ignoring me?'_

_'Salazar Salazar Salazar Salazar'_

_..._

_'Ahh! I tried to use scourgify on my hair, but I accidentally singed half of it off! Now I have a bald patch on one side! What do I do? It's so ugly!'_

_'Salazar! Please!'_

_'Please Salazar I can't fall asleep when my hair smells like dung!'_

Hermione, of course, had a very good idea where Peeves' dungbombs came from. Thus, she also knew their smell was strong enough to last at least another five day unless one knew to use the one unintuitive but effective designated remover. She would let Lockhart suffer for a while longer, partly because it served him right and partly to be sure that people don't draw the connection between Lockhart's reappearance and her release from the infirmary. Besides, even if Lockhart did manage to get the dungbombs out of his hair and leave his room, she'd heard Fred and George quietly affirming to each other that they still had six more on hand.

Contemplating whether to gift Peeves with another box of dungbombs as a thank-you present and deciding against it, Hermione finished her breakfast before turning to chat with her classmates. Her Gryffindor friends reacted to Draco's note mostly as she'd expected them to. Harry was surprised that Draco would actually sincerely admit that he was wrong, and guessed that Blaise, Daphne and Theo probably made him do it. Ron, who'd been forced to scrub the trophy room during the Quidditch match as detention for the flying car stunt, was still in awe that the Slytherins actually sided with "the right side over Malfoy". (And with some work, she'd finally got him to admit that "maybe the snakes weren't all slimy gits after all".) Fred and George debated whether to proceed with their plan to prank Draco, and were still undecided by the time she left for Potions.

The small progression that entered the dungeons must've been very interesting to see. Harry and Ron walked just ahead of Blaise, Hermione and Theo, who were followed closely by Daphne, Lavender and Parvati. Behind them were Tracy Davis, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, followed by Gaius Avery, Mark Pike, and Draco Malfoy (and the ever-present Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle). For the first time, Malfoy took his seat behind her with not a sneer, but a hopeful smile. "Morning, Sal,"

"Good morning, Draco," Hermione replied with her usual smile.

The unusualness of their entrance was unmissed by their classmates who'd already arrived. Some, like Neville and Morag MacDougal, looked as if they'd somewhat expected it. Others, like Seamus Finnigan, seemed too surprised to notice that their jaws were hanging open. The now obvious cordiality between what previously felt like two warring factions was clearly unmissed by Professor Snape as well. Though he gave impressively little physical reactions, Gryffindor was no longer losing points for no particular reason, and Slytherin was no longer gaining any for trivial things. Though he still scolded Gryffindor students brutally when they made mistakes he no longer intimidated them by breathing down their necks, and certain Slytherins such as Crabbe and Goyle received their fair share as well. And though Draco still received a disproportionally high amount of praises, Severus was trying not to be too unfair to Harry. Perhaps despite whatever history he'd had with James Potter or Lily Evans, Harry's support during the Baron's speech had earned his respect.

At the end of class, Professor Snape quietly asked Hermione how she was recovering, and requested that she bottle all of her potion rather than just a sample. Madam Pomfrey would have use for it, he said.

The remainder of her day passed simply enough, and mainly consisted of catching up on work she'd missed. At first convenience, Hermione made a visit to her Chamber to inform the portraits of the recent developments since the duelling club.

"So that's why Severus was in such a foul mood that day," Portrait Salazar muttered, after Portrait Godric had finished ranting about lack of duellist's honour and Portrait Helga had finished scolding her for overworking herself. "In any case, this is a cause to celebrate."

"It is," Hermione agreed, "The ridiculous rift between the houses had finally been closed, now that both side's done something to gain the other's respect. Our house now at least know why taking off after the likes of Voldemort is not favourable for anybody, and the stigma over the Dark Arts has been dissolved somewhat. Now I just have to draw the whole set-up to a suitable close, one that wouldn't cause all our work to go to ruin."

"And finally things are as they should be," Portrait Godric beamed, "I knew our students had it in them!"

"Maybe now they'll finally stop trying to lock our books away," Portrait Rowena sniffed, "I know some of them are not suitable for all readers, but no one's touched them for centuries! It's a waste of knowledge and good research!"

"We need a more sophisticated system of accessing the Restricted Section," Hermione made a mental note.

Portrait Helga smiled gently. "You know how I feel about the Dark Arts, but I'll take anything over people pledging themselves to that monster Voldemort and attacking each others like lunatics."

"Ah yes, Voldemort..." Hermione steepled her fingers, "I wonder if Lucius Malfoy would wonder why no catastrophe is happening at Hogwarts? He wouldn't have been told that the diary was a horcrux, of course - or even the specifics of what it's supposed to do. His end goal was to land Arthur Weasley in trouble, which Ron and Harry had already accomplished for him. Arthur is facing an inquiry at the ministry, according to the Prophet. I sincerely doubt he still had the diary on his mind, and I hope I'm right."

"True," Portrait Rowena thought about this for a while, "there are more than enough explanations for why the diary didn't 'work', and he'd probably attribute it to Albus's work in any case."

"How's Albus taking all this?" Hermione asked. "I thought he'd looked a little apprehensive when Baron Edmund talked about me, but also contemplative. That's understandable, I suppose, considering that we were his formal introduction to the Dark Arts. He wasn't surprised that Rowena taught it though."

"Oh, he talked to us once when you were out, Sal," Portrait Godric told Portrait Salazar, "He wanted to confirm whether what the ghosts said were true, and we told him of course they would never lie about us. He asked about things like whether Helga was a famous healer, and whether I was tutored by Cadogan,"

" - But I suspect those weren't his real interest," said Portrait Helga. "Albus's very good at keeping his secrets, but we've learned a thing or two from being around you."

"He suspected that Edmund may have been misleading, I expect," Portrait Salazar shrugged. "He's afraid. Something's changed him between the time he'd left Hogwarts and the time he'd returned as professor."

"And what exactly happened during that time is where our theories differ, yes," Hermione said, twisting her silver ring.

"I must admit though, Sal, yours is the more interesting of the two... Anyways, Albus was very careful not to look at me at all for the entirety of yesterday - more careful than usual, I mean. He did tell me 'Congratulations' today. Just that word. I think he was looking to see whether I had any idea what he was talking about."

"So as a whole, Dumbledore is not alarmed by the dynamics among the students, but he is watchful." Hermione summarized. "Good."

They talked for some more, before Hermione needed to return to the main body of the school again. It wasn't until the next day that Hermione finally wrote back to Lockhart. _'You will understand my absence, Gilderoy. __Upon discovering your moronic attempt to show off by casting a spell you have not mastered despite my warning against such actions - potentially fatally injuring a student,' _If said student hadn't been wearing very subtle wards to deflect objects and magic away from her heart, brain and spinal cord, anyways... But Lockhart didn't know that. '_And, that despite the disastrous outcomes, you attempted to repeat the same moronic attempt yesterday morning, there seemed to me exceedingly good grounds to terminate our arrangement.'_

A rather large splatter of lilac ink appeared over a good half of the page.

_'Salazar! Surely you're not saying you won't help me anymore! I didn't mess up_ that _badly, did I? I might've accidentally made Miss Hermione's injuries worse rather than waking her, but I've left a "Get well soon" note under her pillow with one of my most perfect signatures! I'm sure she won't hate me for it! She'll be thanking me in no time!_'

Hermione actually chuckled out loud this time, before deciding not to dignify that with a reply.

_'I know, my popularity's taken a heavy hit after the Duelling Club, but I'm sure they'll forget all about it soon enough! Oh, worst comes to worst, I'll just obliviate Filius and Severus. I won't mess that spell up, I promise!'_

_'You think your popularity is the only casualty? Do you not care at all that you have endangered students, or that you might ruin your colleague's lives by erasing their memories? Gilderoy, t__his will be the most important advice I give you, so pay attention:__' _Hermione stopped his words before he could formulate anymore of his mad plan. She'd suspected that he was an unsavoury character for some time, but she hadn't thought him so blatantly apathetic. _'Ordinarily I find it difficult to even imagine someone destroying their soul without ever practicing dark magic, if only owing to the difficulty in delivering damage of that magnitude, but now I can see how it might be possible for someone like you. Recall how I told you that the loss of one's soul will lead to insanity. And extreme ugliness. You will lose all your hair and possibly your nose or teeth. Your skin will turn grey and your eyes bloodshot. __And if you keep trying to better yourself by trampling others, that is what you will become. Take care not to destroy your soul, Gilderoy.__'_

There. That ought to deter him somewhat.

Not that it mattered now. He would be rendered incapable of doing anything soon enough.

_'As I was saying, I have been considering the prospect of ending our deal. However, I am not one to give up on Hogwarts' students so quickly - present or former. I have decided to allow you another chance, Gilderoy. But any more of this stupidity - which totally unbefits you - and I will no longer work with you.'_

Her next steps were simple enough. First, replace Lockhart as the primary supplier of truthful information relating to Dark Arts. Concurrently, replace Lockhart with a less embarrassing avenue to reach the wider public. Finally, have Lockhart removed from the picture altogether - though she trusted that the students had this part covered.

In the past, Salazar generally tried to look out for the well-being of past and current collaborators - the main reason why people were usually happy to do business with him even with knowledge of his knack for manipulation. Hermione kept the same personal rule. If Lockhart hadn't tried to sacrifice the safety of herself and people she cared about, she might've taught him and helped him toward real success. But now, it was almost a given that Lockhart would not like the outcome of their deal when it ends.

_'Yes I understand I'll do as you say Thank you Salazar!' _

_'Good. Dungbomb can be removed by washing with one part chicken eggwhite mixed with two parts urine.'_ The active ingredient was, of course, the eggwhite, but she found it somewhat entertaining to imagine if he'd actually do it._ 'I will show you the contents of your next lesson shortly.'_


	40. Year 2: Chapter 14

"Love how we can finally meet somewhere other than the library," Blaise sighed, watching the snow fall from high above. "Are you staying at school again over the holidays, Sal?"

Hermione, who'd been accompanying the others to Hogsmead to see them off, nodded. She needed to catch up on work. Not to mention, the next stage of her plan involved some amount of travelling, and disappearing in an empty castle was much easier to do than in a two-storey house.

Like last year, Gryffindor tower would be deserted except for herself, Harry and the Weasleys. Most of the Hufflepuffs would be spending time with family as well. Any Slytherin who was not preparing for OWL or NEWT would be going home for certain. The Ravenclaw tower would be more populated, however. This was reflected in the undiminishing presence of blue ties in the library even as the holidays approached.

"See you after the break!" Hermione waved goodbye to her friends as students began boarding the train. She checked her watch. Breakfast was most likely just under half-way done, which meant that Harry and Ron would most likely still be sprawled out in their beds - because who would get up early on a holiday? If she turn back now, she might even be able to make it in time to join them at the Gryffindor table.

Instead of doing that however, before the professors could realize that there was one extra student, Hermione disapparated.

If any of the occupants of Knockturn Alley saw her land, they gave her nothing more than a curious glance. They'd seen stranger things, after all. Still, Hermione made sure not to reveal her face until she'd completed her disguise, before heading straight to Borgin and Burkes.

Mr. Borgin was staring straight at her from the minute she opened his door. "Hello, Mr. Borgin," Hermione greeted, "I see you've acquired more items since the summer."

"Is that you, Knocturn Girl? Yes, since the raids are still ongoing, many families are... depositing magical artifacts with me." he peered at her curiously. "Surely you're not here on a similar business?"

"I've got two books you might find interesting," Hermione told him, and placed the volumes in question on the counter.

"'Understanding the Dark Arts', volume one and two," Mr. Borgin murmured. "But I do not believe the Ministry has sunk so far as to confiscate books just for mentioning this subject. I do wonder why your parents are selling it."

"They didn't tell me," Hermione shrugged.

"Ah, perhaps because of the name of the author. I understand that the subject of the dark arts is ... sensitive as it is, especially for families that have not previously displayed an inclination toward it, am I right?"

Hermione wasn't required to answer him, so she didn't.

Mr. Borgin smirked at her silence, before continuing to seemingly murmur to himself while leafing through it. "Yes, I do believe some others might appreciate a copy of _his _work, and any store in Diagon Alley certainly won't carry anything even borderline dark so soon after the war. But how can I be sure this is really Salazar Slytherin's writing?"

Clearly he was trying to bargain. "Father says it's easy enough to verify."

"True, true," he laughed. "The magical residue on the signature cannot be copied. And I sincerely doubt anyone these days could recreate the charms weaving we've got here. I'll give you twenty galleons for the two of them, Knockturn Girl."

"Fifty galleons, Mr. Borgin."

"Thirty."

"Forty five."

"Thirty, and that's my final offer."

"But my father said not to sell for less than forty galleons,"

"Ah, but I doubt he's aware of what these wards on the book do," Mr. Borgin smiled, "you see, they prevent you from destroying it, turning it invisible for more than around ten minutes it seems, or shrinking it beyond a certain size. I suspect it probably won't even allow itself to be under a certain depth of water or soil for long. And even if you bury it, a ministry official with dark magic detector might pick up the magic around it - and then they'll be even more suspicious. Very thoughtful of Slytherin, who was trying to preserve his work, but it also means that you cannot get rid of it unless you have a very good hiding place. Or if you give it to me..."

Hermione bit her lips. "But..."

"Tell you what, I'll give you thirty-six galleons - that's only two galleons short on each book. Your parents won't be disappointed at you for that."

"But..." Hermione contemplated for a moment, "Alright."

And Mr. Borgin bowed his young customer out of his shop, smiling to himself. The girl was a smart child, a very capable child, but she was still only a child. She revealed her bottom line far too soon, and she'd let him influence her asking price too much! Maybe the next time he sees her, he'd tell her so she wouldn't make the same mistake with someone else. That's how you learn, isn't it?

Fifty galleon for two of any item associated with Salazar Slytherin was already a good bargain. But the best part was that unlike some modern books, these didn't have anti-duplication spells on them. No, he wouldn't sell the originals. His customers would be willing to pay ten galleons just for a copy of the words alone, and those he could sell again and again... He could get so rich off this.

Mr. Borgin chuckled. The girl's parents must've been really paranoid to show their face, to send a child to bargain with him. He wondered who they were.

Hermione smiled unnoticeably as well. She trusted that Mr. Borgin would take care of distributing her books among the dark-inclined families for her rather nicely.

The first and second year Understanding the Dark Arts textbooks contained a comprehensive overview of the possibilities and dangers in each branch of the dark arts, and had been more or less the source of Lockhart's lesson notes. Actual incantations, recipes, or procedures wouldn't appear until the third year textbooks, so these books were relatively safe. And while she knew that Borgin would no doubt try to squeeze as much gold out of his customers as possible, they would most likely still purchase her books if only out of curiosity. Besides, she could also trust Borgin to play up their value dramatically.

That was the easy part. The more difficult part was to reach the remainder of the population.

It was 9:15. Breakfast at Hogwarts would've just finished, and Hermione had until just before lunchtime to apparate back to her Chamber. In the meantime, since she was already here, she strolled around Diagon Alley to do some Christmas shopping. For Ron, she got a set of Chudly Cannon figurines. She'd thought about buying him a new wand, but decided not to deprive him of the chance to find one that was fully compatible with him. For Neville, a plant pot that she would make resizable and self-watering. Theo, one of the better books on magical theories. Blaise, a quill with a silver stand - soon to be charmed damage-proof and self-inking. Daphne, a silver bracelet that would change to any colour the wearer imagined.

For Harry, she bought a gold-trimmed locket made of polished wood. It was not expensive-looking enough to attract thieves, but just handsome enough to be somewhat valuable. This was very important, as she intended to modify one of its shells with an undetectable extension charm just deep enough to contain a wand. Of course, she would also add a locking charm that opens to a password Harry could set for himself. She knew that the Dursleys would be treating Harry better now, but no wizard or witch should ever allow their wands to be locked up in a cupboard. This was just a precaution.

By mid-day, Hermione joined Harry and Ron in the Great Hall. "Sally, where did you go? We didn't see you at all this morning!" Harry asked when she sat down.

"Oh I came down early to see Blaise, Daphne and Theo off, and then I sat in the library for a while. We must've just missed each other."

"We're still one person short," Fred noticed, "Where's Percy? He's always disappearing these days."

"And by that he means since the start of the year," added George.

Hermione thought she saw Ginny choke on something, but didn't mention it.

"Did someone mention me?" Percy chose this moment to sit down beside Ginny.

"Oh yes," nodded Fred pleasantly, "We were just getting worried that your fat head might've gotten stuck in a door somewhere."

Percy glared at them, then at Ron when he failed to hold back a snigger. "You lot better behave yourselves this Christmas. No more pranks. You already made enough trouble for us when you crashed the car."

Hermione, who'd read the Daily Prophet this morning, knew he was referring to the fifty galleon fine that Arthur Weasley had recently been charged with. She nodded sympathetically.

"We're the laughing stock of the ministry! And with Malfoy at our neck, the last thing we need is for the world to hear that Dad couldn't even set rules for his own children -"

"Percy," George interrupted, "Relax. We're on holiday."

Percy gave him a exasperated look, and started on his lunch without another word.

"He always gets his knicker in a twist whenever we have any fun," Fred sighed dramatically, before whispering to Hermione, "These days he's always going of to do Merlin-knows-what kind of boring officious stuff, and whenever he does appear -"

"- he's always scolding us! It's as if mum's given him special instructions to watch us or something -"

" - even during Christmas. Wouldn't want him to get a heart attack," said Fred.

"Indeed," George nodded solemnly, "Mum'll blame it on us."

Hermione arched her eyebrow. "You sound like you've got something planned?"

The smirks she received were answer enough.

"But seriously though. If our little goody-two-shoes can talk him into taking a chill pill -"

" - We would greatly appreciate it."

"I'll see if I can talk to him," Hermione decided. For Fred and George's request, but more for something else...

Her afternoon was spent reasonably productively in her Chamber, practicing her Nocturnes and enchanting trinkets that were to be her friends' Christmas gifts. After fine tuning the low-level legilimency charms required to make Daphne's bracelet work, Hermione returned to the Gryffindor common room to watch Harry and Ron play Gobstone by the fire while entertaining Lockhart's longwinded retelling of one of his book signings.

At around five o'clock, Percy returned to the common room.

"Percy, do you have some time now?" Hermione asked, "I was hoping you could give me some advice on which classes to take next year, and they all sound so interesting!" Meanwhile, she wrote in her book, _'Intrigued, Gilderoy. Tell me how you published your first book?'_

Percy puffed his chest out at this. "Of course, Hermione. It's my duty as prefect after all."

"But Sally, we don't have to worry about that until Easter!" Harry looked up from his game, surprised.

"We choose our own classes?" Ron blurted, "your move, Harry."

True, it was a bit early to ask about this, but it would be understandable for her to want to be prepared. Percy seemed to agree. "It never hurts to think about your future early," he assured her, "you should do more of this, Ron... It all depends where you want to go, Hermione. I don't suppose you need to take Muggle Studies, but it would be interesting to see the muggle world from the magical point of view. Arithmacy would be useful if you're interested in conducting magical research. You'd need Runes if you're interested in history - because that's what people used before our system of latinate spells was developed. Then there's care of magical creatures, and divination..."

Meanwhile, a cursory glance at her book showed that Lockhart was already scribbling away:

_'Well, I'm glad you asked, Salazar! The first is always the hardest of all. After all the trouble I went through - getting my story, actually writing the book, making the cover all dazzling, the editor looked up at me with his beady little eyes and said, "Gilderoy who?" Gilderoy who! He'd never even heard of my name! And then I said ...' _

Satisfied that Lockhart would be kept busy for some time, Hermione closed the notebook so that she could give her full attention to Percy. "I wonder, what would I need for a career in the ministry?"

"Ah," Percy's eyes lit up as they entered his area of expertise, "in that case you definitely want either arithmacy or runes - you'll need to look sophisticated. But you might not want to take both, because you need your grades to look good as well. Muggle studies can help you relate to a large part of the population, but you also don't want to antagonize the old families too much - because they can get you kicked out faster than you can say 'Merlin'. It's a tricky balance, and you have to get everything just right to please the right people..."

By the far-away look in his eyes, it was evident that Percy was no longer giving advice, but rather reciting everything on his mind. And now that the subject's been opened, it was time to approach the problem.

"It's tough, isn't it?" Hermione commented, "perfecting that public image - the classes you take, how you conduct yourself, even the people you associate with..."

Percy nodded vigorously. "Exactly! They look at everything, even your family members! You have no idea how annoying that is, Sally. To work so hard to make yourself presentable, then to have people look at you and think of your up-to-no-good brothers and their bloody jokes ... "

"They're not trying to mess things up for you, Percy. They just want to get you to loosen up more. They're afraid you're going to get a heart attack from all this stress."

"But how can I relax? Me and Penny are supposed to intern at the ministry together! Tough luck there, if I'm going to walk into this big mess when I graduate in two years! First Dad just had to enchant his muggle stuff even though he wrote a law that says you can't do it. Then Ron had to crash it and let the whole world know. Almost a third of the senate never liked us much in the first place, and Lucius Malfoy's been just waiting to jump on something like this since the new Muggle Protection Act!"

This, Hermione had been waiting for. "Oh yeah, Ron told me about that. I never did get it... If your dad enjoys enchanting things so much, why did he prohibit in the first place?"

"Muggle protection," Percy shrugged, then sighed. "Besides, he can't back out now."

"Still, I think if somebody can propose an amendment to this law that keeps magical objects away from muggles without taking away wizards' right to use them, everyone would be a lot happier," Hermione suggested.

She'd been entertaining this idea for a while now. Percy was in the perfect position to talk to both sides because while he was not an unfamiliar name, he was still a "rookie". His perceived alignment was not as set-in-stone as the older politicians, and he'd made the effort over the past years to maintain good relationships with everyone. People might hear Percy Weasley out whereas they might quickly turn the other way if, say, Arthur Weasley or Lucius Malfoy had said the same thing.

If Percy could be the one to propose this amendment - with help, of course, if he needed it, he would earn the respect of both sides. This could be his chance to make his name - and probably earn him much more than just a simple internship at the ministry.

That is, if Percy was willing to do it.

Percy shook his head sadly. "Sometimes you just got to make a sacrifice. As much as I don't want him at our neck, we can't cower in front of Malfoy. We've got to stand up for what we believe in."

"I don't mean to submit to Malfoy, Percy," Hermione clarified, "I meant a solution that satisfies the requirements of both sides. Your dad wants to protect muggles. Malfoy wants to keep his magical artifacts and his privacy. These two criteria are not inherently mutually exclusive."

"There's no such miracles, Hermione. There's no point wishing for one. You'll learn that as you get older."

It was no longer safe to push any further, so Hermione nodded. "Thank you for your advices, Percy."

She wasn't too surprised. Percy was ambitious, but not ambitious enough. He wanted to be successful, but he wasn't willing to push the limits of possibility. And thus, while Percy wanted to climb as high as possible in the ministry, he lacked the drive and vision to make a good minister. _'But that's alright. The shaft that stabilizes a spear is just as important as the head.'_

And Hermione would get back to Percy on that amendment. While Percy might not be willing to take this opportunity for himself, he was still in a good position to help her with it. If she timed things optimally, this could potentially go a long way.

She wondered how it would turn out.

* * *

**AN: Well that took a while to write... **


	41. Year 2: Chapter 15

Arthur Weasley sat at the small wooden breakfast table of his kitchen, contemplating the letter before him. A post owl had delivered it a few minutes ago in a neat envelope addressed to the Head of Department of Muggle Artifacts. Ministry business?

_'To Mr. Arthur Weasley, Head of the Department of Muggle Artifacts:_

_Good morning. I respect the value of your time, and so I will cut straight to the topic. _

_I would like to bring to your attention a number of insights on the Muggle Protection Act. To start, I must commend you for your valiant effort. I think we as wizards and witches have a responsibility to be considerate of the muggles. It is good that we are taking action to keep our non-magical neighbours from being accidentally harmed by our craft. _

_However, you must have realized at this point that the Act brings numerous disadvantages. With no way to clearly distinguish "muggle-like magical artifacts" from "acceptable magical items", it forbids the enchantment of household objects like pots and pans to improve our work efficiency. It forbids the invention of ingenious tools and devices like the ones we marvel at in the muggle world. It forbids us from pursuing our interests and passion, such as the rather unconventional refurbishing of a muggle vehicle._

_But please consider that "muggle-like magical artifacts" can be regulated by many means. We do not need to resort to prohibiting their "production for use". Indeed, I am imagining one solution - one amendment to the Muggle Protection Act - that will be mutually beneficial to all relevant parties:_

_In this amendment, the ministry searches for magical artifacts will continue, but they will take place in muggle stores rather than in the homes of wizards. The teams currently stationed to repeatedly tear apart our properties in attempt to find spell-anchoring artifacts against a heavily magical background, will be reassigned to periodically patrol a designated neighbourhood of muggle Britain by simply strolling through shops while carrying their magical detectors on their persons. While on duty, they can also take the opportunity to examine the muggle merchandises, learn about the newest muggle technology, and collect first-hand information on muggle culture. They will then publish their discoveries in a periodical, to educate the magical society on their findings. _

_Enchantment and use of all magical artifacts will be legal, but those who are found responsible for allowing their belongings to enter the muggle market will be subjected to a fine depending on the severity of the offense - both to give wizards incentive to keep muggles safe from their artifacts and to compensate for the patrol teams' salaries. _

_For muggles, this amendment will mean improved protection. Currently you are merely checking whether a small portion of the magical population is keeping magical items at home. This provides information on which magical items are not being distributed to muggles, but you are no closer to finding the sources of the ones that are. By refocusing our attention from monitoring wizards onto monitoring the muggle market regularly and comprehensively, we can bypass these uncertainties and ensure that no magical items reaches muggles. _

_For wizards, benefits will be even greater. As you've realized, our knowledge about the lives of our muggle neighbours is sorely lacking. I myself take time to pick up a copy of one of the muggle newspapers outside the Leaky Cauldron about once a month, but they tend to be dedicated more to the muggle celebrities and the outcome of sport games. Yet, the things they use in their everyday business are what really intrigue you and I. We want to learn about the incredible ideas that the muggles have developed - electricity, computers, plastic, engines, etc. - and this amendment will bring us up to date. It will even create the opportunity for us to be inspired by the muggles, and to incorporate__ aspects of their work into our own lives. _

_Imagine this, Mr. Weasley, and imagine the possibilities._

_And now I write to you in hope that you will see the same vision as I, and put this amendment into practice. Of course, I understand that there will be challenges in changing any law, or instating any new policy. Thus, I have written to certain senators to convince them of the merit of this proposal and ask for their full support. If I am successful, then you will likely hear from them soon. I am sure that with all of us working together, we will turn this vision into reality._

_Have a good day, and good luck,_

_A member of the public.'_

"What's this?" Molly read over his shoulder.

"An interesting suggestion," Arthur muttered, deep in thought.

It was a pretty good one, actually. It shouldn't be too hard to find enchanted things in a muggle store. True, it would take up a lot of his department's resources to do blanket checks on a whole region, but raiding manor houses wasn't exactly time-efficient either. And a muggle market research team! This was just what wizards needed. Arthur had always wanted to know what the muggles are using these days, but he could hardly find the time between his job and spending time with his family. He hadn't dared to think about it before - he'd just assumed they would never get the resources, but if someone else was as interested as he was then maybe they'd finally get the support they'd need!

Was this plan worth restructuring the department for?

Arthur carefully folded the letter into his pocket - it might be a good idea to bring it up at work today, before everyone goes on holiday. If he'd need to pitch this idea to a senator soon, then he'd better start preparing.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy sat at the richly ornate redwood desk of his study, contemplating the letter before him. It had been dropped off by a nondescript owl last morning, but had been neglected until now as he hadn't recognized the handwriting as that of anyone significant. He'd finally opened it today just before his usual lunchtime, expecting to spend no more than three minutes on it, but instead he ended up reading it over and over again until Narcissa sent Dobby up to get him.

After telling the elf to advise Narcissa that she should not wait for him today, Lucius ordered the obnoxious creature out of his sight and sat back down to read the letter again.

_'To the Venerable Mr. Lucius Malfoy:_

_Greetings, and please excuse this unexpected arrival of this letter. I hope you will find it worth your time.'_

Judging from the use of the proper address for a prominent family's head of house, _Venerable, _he was corresponding with another old family. The mudbloods and even many of the mixed bloods had not an ounce of respect for magical tradition - like that fool of a wizard Arthur Weasley, who worshipped muggles so much he might as well snap his wand and join them. Of all the things to be caught enchanting, a _flying muggle car_? Really? What use would that have, that couldn't be accomplished by a _proper_ form of transportation?

Unfortunately, they composed of nearly half of the population, so Lucius had to at least appear to tolerate them.

_'I__ am aware of your commendable effort to preserve our common interest, an interest infringed upon by the current Muggle Protection Act. Thus, I am also aware that the fact that the raids are still in effect was not due to our lack of trying.'_

Lucius snorted. _Our _lack of trying? He was the only one doing anything! The other purebloods were all sitting on their hands, knowing that the moment they expressed disapproval of the new bylaw they would be searched. Of course, Lucius couldn't blame them. If he wasn't already under suspicion, and if it wasn't so obvious that the Malfoys had the most to lose, he wouldn't have taken up the mantle either.

_'Perhaps we can try another approach. We do not have sufficient reason to repeal the Muggle Protection Act, but they cannot argue against a "revision" to it. There are more ways to protect muggles from magical artifacts than through prohibiting their existence (and through invading upon our privacy). I have written to Arthur Weasley, proposing that he stop the raids on our estates and remove the restriction on the enchantment of artifacts. Instead, his task force would patrol muggle stores and removing any magical items they find. I dare say he will accept, as I have reminded him that patrolling the muggle market will allow for the tantalizing prospect of learning about muggle gadgets and writing about them in a periodical. He should also realize that without our ... political and financial support, shall we say, this tantalizing prospect would likely remain__ a dream._

_I have proposed this amendment to others like us, such as Ven. Mr. Nott and Ven. Madam Greengrass, as their co-operation may be required as well. Nevertheless, among all of us, you are in the most optimal position to conduct the actual negotiations with Arthur Weasley, as you have been the most outspoken on this topic. I hope you will consider this approach. Its benefits greatly outweigh the inconveniences. _

_To the speedy termination of ministry raids,_

_S.'_

Lucius set down the letter again and considered. It was true that they needed the raids ended quickly - any more, and even his secret chamber under the floorboards might not hold up to inspection. It was also true that all his attempts to scrap the law and get Weasley fired had been to no avail, even after the flying car incident. The man simply had too much backing from Dumbledore. However, if Weasley really could be convinced to change the Muggle Protection Act to something more sensible by his own accord, then no one could really say anything against it.

Yes, he supposed it was an option to try. Lucius didn't give a damn what Weasley did with his time. The existence of a publication dedicated to muggle news would be an annoyance... but one that was far more easily tolerated. And any funding that Weasley can think of asking for certainly wouldn't be a problem. He sincerely doubted that the man had ever even seen a thousand galleons together in one place.

But who was '_S_'? Severus? But then Lucius would've recognized the writing. One of the Selwyns, maybe? It seemed that the author of the letter had decided to remain anonymous. This was not overly surprising, as if Lucius had known their name he would probably write back and ask for something to compensate for his effort.

But of course, one could only hope for so much, and stopping the raids was the priority concern.

Lucius folded the letter away, took out a blank parchment and started to write.

* * *

**A.N.: I'm back, with two letters :D **

**Lol at first I wanted Sally's owl to deliver Arthur Weasley's letter, but then I realized it probably won't be smart.**

**I imagine the magical society to be doing better than ours in terms of gender equity, which is why the Greengrass family has a matriarch rather than a patriarch.**


	42. Year 2: Chapter 16

Blaise carefully picked off a shrimp from the glistening, expertly arranged seafood cocktail tower.

Like last year this time, they were all converged in the children's lounge at the Malfoys' winter ball. This year, however, there was one more thing on their minds aside from the magnificent dishes, the card games and the usual gossip.

"Any luck with Project Give-Lockhart-the-boot?"

"Surprisingly, still no," Draco, who was carving a slice of roasted lamp chop for himself, shook his head. "That's odd... I didn't think Father would be so reluctant to sack him. And that's after I complained that he was going to accidentally curse my arm off before Professor Snape stopped him!"

"So what did he say?" Theo asked.

"Something along the lines of, 'Lockhart still has his uses. You should be able to defend yourself easily from that fool, if he's really that hopeless at magic. And listen carefully in his classes.'"

"My mother is the same," said Daphne, "It shouldn't be difficult for her. She owns 50% share in Witches Weekly after all, and all she has to do is to have them print the truth - that Lockhart can't defend himself from pixies, can't cast _rennervate_, and singed his own hair off when trying to cast _scourgify_."

"Why does Witches Weekly give him that 'most beautiful smile award' in the first place?" Tracy asked curiously, "He's been waving that title in our faces for the whole year!"

"He looks good on picture, and also there's reader expectation," Daphne shrugged. "It's a frivolous title anyways. I'm pretty sure mother has about as much respect for him as we do - she was only three years above him when they were in school."

Blaise was surprised too. When he'd called this project, he'd thought that with all their families' resources, Lockhart would've been out in no time - especially since their request was actually perfectly reasonable and justified. What he didn't expect was for all of their letters home detailing Lockhart's various embarrassing deeds to be ignored, or once they get home, for all their attempts to bring up the topic of Lockhart to be turned down with a vague "leave him alone because he has his uses".

This didn't bode well for Blaise. As much as he had been using this opportunity to prove himself, his housemates were also taking the opportunity to assess him and see whether he was worth following or not. If his first project turned out to be a failure... Blaise took another shrimp from the ice cold seafood tower. Its cool smooth meat had a slight calming effect as it rolled on his tongue, and it was less obvious than chewing the ice cubes.

Blaise wondered what Sal would say if she was here. Draco, understandably, hadn't dared invite her to his party. While in school everyone went out of their way to be friendly with her now, it would be unwise to introduce her to their parents. Not that Sal wouldn't know the type of behaviour expected at these social functions - Blaise was now reasonably confident that she'd be able to handle herself as well as any of them. Only that it would lead to questions about her parentage, and Blaise suspected that many of the adults had a rather more... extremist view on muggleborns than their children.

"My father's like that too," commented Theo, "it almost feels like they're not just unwilling to help - because then they would've said that Lockhart isn't worth their time and end the discussion there. It almost feels like they're trying to discourage _us_ from going after the dolt."

The table fell silent as they considered this. "I can see your point, now that you mention it," Gaius nodded in agreement, "You think there's something we haven't thought of, then?"

"Maybe, but maybe there's something they haven't considered," Blaise defended, "They haven't seen how Lockhart's like at Hogwarts. They haven't seen how he shoots his bad spells left, right, and center. Heck, even whatever it is that's making him a good teacher for theory can't make him a safe person to keep in a school! It would be much better if we can get rid of him, and try to get his knowledge from its source."

Theo set down his forkful of duck confit thoughtfully, "I say we try one more time today, together, and give it our best shot."

"And if our parents can't be convinced?" Tracy asked.

"Then we'll find another way," Theo said simply, and gave Blaise a sidelong look.

They'd have to, and Blaise really, really hoped they could.

Outwardly though, Blaise nodded without hesitation. They wasted no time in discussing their best course of action - it was good fortune that the Malfoys decided to extend the party by three hours this year, beginning just before lunch rather than in the afternoon, but they still only had a day. Draco called a house elf to bring parchment and a Dicto-quill to note down good ideas. Throughout all this, Blaise saw that the others were perfectly relaxed as they continued to eat their meal so he did the same - even though he found it difficult to taste the food now.

To have a hard goal, to know that something _must_ be done, was stressful. He wondered whether this was how the adults feel, every year out there in the main room, as they chat and dance and appear to enjoy the party favours. Or maybe they'd long gotten used to it - as would he. Or, maybe he was worrying himself too much. One couldn't expect to win on the first try every time, after all. His housemates should remember that. _He_ should remember that.

They decided to put their plan into action in the late afternoon, before supper time.

At 6:23, Tracy, Daphne, Pansy and Millicent strolled out of the children's lounge. At 6:33, Millicent came back. "All ready," she announced.

"That's our cue, guys," Blaise nodded, before he, Theo and Draco left the children's room for the main dining room.

Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Nott were nonchalantly discussing something about the economy when the three boys found them. This was good, as Theo had guessed that economy was their default topic when they didn't have anything better to talk about. Even better, as the children had frequently observed, they had Minister Fudge sandwiched between them once again.

"Father," Draco interjected as soon as the conversation paused, "My friends and I are hoping that the orchestra can play a song for us."

"Ah, isn't this Draco and Theodore!" The bumbling, slightly sweaty minister greeted them, happy for a break. "And you are, young gentleman?"

"Blaise Zabini," Blaise supplied. "It's a pleasure to meet you, minister."

"And mine too, Blaise," Fudge gladly shook hands with him. Blaise knew he was in no hurry to return to the conversation with Draco and Theo's fathers even as they waited for him. After all, it was much less stressful chatting with children than seasoned politicians, where his every response would be evaluated even for a topic as generic as the economy. And so, it was not unexpected that Fudge proceeded to ask them the first question that adults always asked them at a party: "How was school this year?"

"It was excellent, for the most part," Theo told him, but loudly enough so that his voice carried, "but we don't think Gilderoy Lockhart is a suitable professor."

It was more blunt than they usually strived to be, but they'd decided that it was necessary. Anything less plain and less clear would be too easily glossed over by their fathers. Besides, they were just kids. They would be forgiven.

"My dear children," Fudge admonished, "Surely there's no need to say that about your professor! Mr. - er, _Professor_ Lockhart's done many brilliant things, after all. Who better to teach the subject, right?"

Blaise saw that Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Nott were both giving them significant looks. Theo pretended he hadn't noticed and went on anyways. "But there's been a number of incidents involving him this year. I think Daphne's just telling her mother's friends now -"

The adults turned to glance at the other side of the room, where Daphne and Pansy were indeed talking with a circle of Madam Greengrass's associates - all journalists and editors of various news organizations. Mr. Greengrass was deep in conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson. The Greengrass matriarch was nowhere to be seen.

Of course, Blaise had very good reasons to believe she was being engaged in a long conversation by Tracy, but that was irrelevant for the moment. It took all the self-discipline he could muster to stop himself from fidgeting nervously.

The plan had been to show their parents that even if they didn't get help from them, they could still take the dirt they'd gathered on Lockhart to other people - and they would not be easily stopped. Of course, they wouldn't actually try to have the journalists publicly shame Lockhart just yet (Daphne and Pansy were merely discussing the Quidditch games and potion class). They didn't even know if it would work. But to their parents it would still be enough to become a consideration, and how relevant your interest was, depended on how much influence you appeared to have on the situation, didn't it?

Tracy had raised the concern that they might be messing with somebody else's plans if they really managed to turn, say, Fudge against Lockhart. Theo had reasoned that their parents would be able to stop them in time before they reached that point. Draco had worried that their parents would be displeased with them for making trouble. Daphne had argued that their parents would not, because how Slytherin would they be if they gave up just because they were told to? Instead, she'd said, their parents should be proud.

If they were going to stop, Blaise had agreed and added, it had better be because they were convinced by a proper reason and not this vague excuse. And the best part about this plan was that even if they wouldn't get support, they would at least get a negotiation, or at least some explanation.

Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Nott exchanged a glance. "Please excuse us, minister. We need to tell the orchestra of our childrens' ... request. We will return shortly. Draco, please ask your friends who requested this song to come with us."

_'Call them off,' _the cold, hard eyes of Lucius Malfoy were demanding. Blaise obliged.

And the five young Slytherins, plus Tracy who caught up with them, were led back to the children's lounge by the expressionless Mr. Malfoy and an equally expressionless Mr. Nott. No one said a word on the way. Once they entered the room of expectantly waiting students, Mr. Malfoy locked the door behind him. A second charm later and they were completely cut off from the noise of the party. There was a chorus of "Good evening"s as the children hurried to greet the two adults.

"Good evening," said Mr. Malfoy silkily, "I would like to congratulate all of you. Whatever your plan was, you have successfully forced us to stop our conversation with the Minister of Magic to come here."

"Commendable, really," Blaise caught Mr. Nott murmur.

"I must admit, we are impressed. This is obviously a collective, well-coordinated effort, and you have demonstrated that you are a force to be reckoned with. But we must ask you to cease your attempts to remove Gilderoy Lockhart from Hogwarts. You're interfering with something deeper than you realise."

"But Mr. Malfoy, sir," Tracy protested, "he can't control what his spells do, or where they're going!"

"We know," Draco's father agreed, "he never could when he was a student. In addition to shooting unsafe spells left, right and center, we also remember him blowing up cauldrons to make shampoo and breaking his own ribs with a self-invented spell that was apparently supposed to make him more muscular. He is the definition of safety hazard. But we still ask that you leave him alone."

"We understand that there may be value in his lectures on the dark arts," Blaise ventured, "and that we should pick out the grains from the dust. But since there's no way Lockhart could've prepared those material himself, surely we can find the source of his knowledge and learn directly from it?"

"We already have," Theo's father revealed. "Very recently, Borgin and Burkes begun to sell copies of the earliest Hogwarts first and second year textbooks on Understanding the Dark Arts, authored by Salazar Slytherin himself. Judging by what I gathered from Theodore's letters, the materials, arguments and evidences Lockhart presents are all strikingly similar to those left for us by Lord Slytherin. Thus, although Mr. Borgin refuses to reveal how exactly he had acquired the books, we have good reasons to believe those were the sources Lockhart had been teaching from. Most likely he went searching for lifelines in the restricted section out of desperation once he realized he was out of his depth."

Now Blaise and his classmates shared a glance. They were out of arguments. Their parents seemed to have already considered everything they'd thought of. What now?

"Then why, father?" Theo finally asked, "Why is it necessary to keep Lockhart around?"

The corners of Mr. Nott's lips lifted by the slightest amount. "Ah, it seems you will not stop until we fully convince you of our reasons. Very well... The long and short of it is, Lockhart is at the moment our best chance of restoring the noblest and most potent of magic back to its rightful place. He is doing much good for your generation by encouraging your classmates to accept and embrace what magic is capable of, rather than attempt to suppress it like their weakling parents. They will not believe the likes of us, who they have been taught to hate, but they will believe him. With luck, given ten years or so, Lockhart might even persuade the adults to be less offended by our existence in the world. A large part of our population worship him so much that they'll listen to whatever he says."

"Granted, anybody with brains wouldn't be swayed so easily. But then again, they would hardly be inclined to love him in the first place," Mr. Malfoy added, "But do you see now why Lockhart's still useful to us? If you discredit him in any way, this opportunity would be lost to us. Again, it's commendable that you've come this far. You've planned, you've strategized, and you've persevered. Whichever ones of you were responsible for organizing this did an excellent job. But I hope you will all be reasonable and tolerate Lockhart for a bit longer."

Blaise had to agree. He really hadn't been thinking that far or that big when he convinced his fellow Slytherins that Lockhart needed to go. They were right. He hadn't considered all the consequences. Project Give-Lockhart-the-boot couldn't go on, after all.

It wasn't a total fail, though. Even if they didn't manage to kick a lilac-clad dolt out of Hogwarts, they had been complimented on their planning and their strength. His housemates would remember that. Some might even count it as a success, so Blaise was safe. Not so shabby, right?

But...

Blaise still didn't feel completely satisfied. It wasn't right, that Lockhart would be praised for something he didn't do any work for - and taking credit for Salazar Slytherin's genius at that! Or, that Lockhart would hurt his friend and walk away scot-free. Even Draco hadn't. Why should he? But as Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Nott said, there wasn't much he could do...right?

After receiving all of their assurances, Draco and Theo's fathers turned to slip back into the main party. "Ah, by the way, was there really a song that you would like played?"

"Actually, there is," Theo smiled, producing the Hogwarts Repertoire of Nocturnes and turning it to the composition titled '_Slytherin_'. "I wonder if they could."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy and Tristan Nott exited the children's room with a sigh. "I suppose this is what we get for raising clever children,"

Indeed, Lucius was pleasantly surprised by his son. He'd honestly thought Draco had been simply whining about Lockhart like he complained about herbology grades or the weather, but this... "You think we could've pulled off something like that in our second year?"

Nott smiled. "Maybe, or maybe not. We'll never know."

"And they seem to have already started teaching themselves the Nocturne too," Lucius glanced at the composition book in his hand. "I was going to wait until Draco becomes a little more... mature. I didn't think he would take an interest at such a young age."

"Well, it never hurts to start training early."

They handed the composition book to the orchestra outside. The conductor and the first violinist both furrowed their brows in confusion over the strange structure of the scores and the elaborate cadenzas, but they were persuaded with some extra galleons to do as much with it as they could. Any four of the nine lines would do, Lucius told them, and skip the difficult sections. He didn't see how those were humanly possible either, so they needn't embarrass themselves by attempting it.

Then, the Malfoy and Nott patriarchs made their way back to the manor dining room.

"I've been meaning to ask you," Nott said as they passed one of Lucius's white peacocks on the hedge, "if you have received correspondence from our mutual friend _S_."

"I have," Lucius confirmed, raising an eyebrow, "and I am in accordance with our mutual friend's plan if that's what your concern is. I have already written to Weasley. Though, how successful our mutual friend's been at persuading _him_, I do not know. If things go through, this could potentially solve some problems for us. Have you any idea who our mutual friend is?"

"Not at all. Although, I do wonder why our mutual friend has decided to provide a letter in place of a signature, rather than none at all."

Lucius considered that. "What's your theory, then?"

"Merely a guess," Nott said without elaborating. "You have my support in this matter, Lucius."

"I'm glad of that. I'll be counting on it."

* * *

Yuletide, or Christmas, at Hogwarts was cool but sunny with snow-capped mountains and a clear blue sky. The ceiling of the Great Hall had really outdone itself this year, producing sparkling snow that fell gently to the tables below before vanishing. Seated under the thick streamers of holly with a warm goblet of pumpkin juice, Hermione wrote thank you notes for the presents she received, while waiting for Harry and the Weasleys to come downstairs.

This year, she'd received a biology textbook from her parents. Hermione had requested this, as the muggles had apparently developed very interesting theories regarding "cells" and "genetics". From the little she'd read so far, these theories didn't seem to be entirely applicable when magic was factored in. The Mendelian distribution was not observed in magical inheritance and the production of squibs, for example. Still, they seemed to be well supported with evidence and explained a number of things Salazar hadn't known before. Wizards would do well to learn a bit more about them.

From Neville, she'd received a letter saying that he'd give her his present once he return to school. He'd just realized his present would probably break if he gave it to an owl, he wrote. This made Hermione rather curious. She wondered what it was.

From Blaise, Theo, and Daphne she'd received a set of crystal potion vials, a book on magical theory that she just happened not to have read yet, and a beautiful quartz canary that she'd decided to set on her bedside table. From Harry, she'd received another elegant eagle feather quill - her last one had unfortunately collided with Lockhart's...posterior on one of those days... From Ron, she'd received another box of chocolate cauldron. She'd actually grown partial to those, she found, even if their shapes suggest themselves for dosing with poison. It wasn't as if she wasn't in the habit of checking her food anyways.

But the best thing Hermione received this morning wasn't actually for her. It was a piece of news, sent in mail by Arthur Weasley to his children.

"'Dear kids,_'_" Read Fred aloud to the breakfast table, "Merlin, why does he always write that? We're not babies anymore!"

"'Have a wonderful Christmas at school!'" George continued, "'I don't know if you noticed, but your mother put one extra piece of fudge in each of your packages. - Though I might've sneaked one from either Ron's or Percy's. Sorry.'"

"Fred and George, you better not be making trouble again, bla bla blah... Oh, listen to this: 'Ginny, your mother and I are happy to hear that your first year's been fun. We really miss you too, but we knew our little girl has to grow up someday. Oh, and your mother insists that I tell you this _now_, so I'll do it even though I don't really see the point: don't go kissing the boys just yet!'" The Weasley brothers chuckled at this, and Hermione felt a bit sympathetic toward poor Ginny who was blushing red.

"' Ron, we hope you're still working hard. You got Acceptables and above in all your classes except Potion last year, and we expect you to keep up your good performance. Those three Slytherins you mentioned last year turned out to be quite something, huh? I'm glad some of them are still willing to stand up for what's right. And you're all still kids, so maybe there's time to bring the rest of them around too...We read what you wrote about Lockhart at the duelling club in your last letter. Your mother thinks there might've been a misunderstanding, or you didn't quite see what you thought you saw. Just try to keep an open mind, alright? At least you said the lessons were OK?'"

"Did you tell them what Lockhart's lessons were about?" Hermione muttered softly to Ron.

"I wrote them after his first proper lesson, but Mum was all like, 'You're not fooling me about Lockhart! I know Fred and George told you to go along with their joke!'," Ron muttered back, "Maybe because they'd tried to convince her that Lockhart's married two years ago..."

"' Percy, it's good to hear that your studies are going well, but don't overwork yourself! Merlin knows you deserve a break over Christmas. Yes, I promise, I'll try to throw in a good word or two for you at the ministry from time to time. Things at work have been going very well for me. It turns out that there's interest for "all that muggle stuff", as you lot call it, after all! The department's looking at a change to the Muggle Protection Act to protect muggles and learn from them at the same time. It involves putting our people in charge of checking on the muggle stores once in a while, to see what new gadgets they're selling but also to make sure there's nothing magical there at the same time. Most of our department is really warming up to it - they're relieved that they won't have to worry about getting jinxed in the back anymore while they worked, they say. And who knows? If we can get one of the senators on board with this we might even get enough funding to publish a newsletter about the muggle market. Of course, everyone's on break right now, but I'm planning to have the draft ready as soon as Christmas ends so that we can start the negotiations. Better move quickly while we still have support, right?'"

"Dad's going on and on about all that muggle stuff again," Ron rolled his eyes, "getting paid for snooping around muggle shops would be his heaven."

"Well I think your dad has a great idea," Hermione defended, "I mean, muggles might not have magic, but they actually figured out how to do some things that wizards can't! Think of what an arithmacer can do with a magical equivalent of the computer, for example. A lot of those calculations wouldn't have to be done by hand anymore! Besides, think of how many new jobs for muggleborns this is going to create! Right now it's hard for them to get good work because they don't know anyone here, but the new version of the Muggle Protection Act will really need to be enforced by people who understand both the muggle culture and the magical culture. Right, Percy?"

"Definitely," Percy nodded, "and if he manages to get a senator's support, then it'll be harder for Malfoy to get at us!"

"Hey guys! Are we going to finish reading this or not?"

Under the table, Hermione steepled her fingers as Fred and George proceeded to read out a P.S. that was tagged onto the end of the letter by their mother and longer than the letter itself.

Lucius Malfoy's response should be due any day now - real business observed no holidays, after all, and she expected little difficulties on this front. From what she'd learned of the Malfoy patriarch from his past activities, she'd more or less established that a clear, logical explanation of what he had to gain was enough to convince him to act.

Arthur Weasley, however, was another matter. She needed to appeal to his emotions and his values. In her letter to him she'd tried to speak to his pride in serving the public, his passion for muggle technology, and his joy at finding someone who shared his interest - and it seemed she'd succeeded in exciting his enthusiasm. But emotions were volatile, and she could not assume that he would stay enthusiastic for long enough to see the proposal through. Especially the minute he finds out who he would be co-operating with.

Unfortunately, twelve-year-olds had very short arms, and anonymous members of the general public had no arms at all. She had very few channels to reach Arthur Weasley at her disposal, let alone influence him - and even fewer that could be maintained for a sustained period of time. One of these was already in progress.

She hoped it would be at least effective enough to tide things over.

* * *

**A.N. Well that was long. I'm so proud of myself.**

**Thank you for the warnings that I might be approaching the Mary Sue terrain. I'll continue to watch myself so that Sally isn't illogically successful.**

**I also just realized when I wrote chapter 27, where Hermione's parents visited the Dursleys, I actually forgot that Hagrid gave Dudley a pigtail. There's no way the Dursleys would've reacted so well if their son had actually been hurt by magic... Since I'm too lazy to go back and change it, can we pretend for this story that Hagrid was a little bit more civil with them when he rescued Harry? :D Thank you very much for understanding!**


	43. Year 2: Chapter 17

Arthur Weasley was humming happily to himself as he worked on tidying and decorating the cozy little living room of the Burrow. The smell of Molly's excellent cooking wafted through the kitchen door. He was just rearranging the bunch of holly on the mantelpiece when the fireplace flashed green. He jumped back in surprise as the old headmaster of Hogwarts stepped smoothly out of the floo.

"Merry Christmas, Arthur," Albus Dumbledore smiled genially, using a silent wandless spell to clean off his half-moon glasses.

"Oh! Merry Christmas, Albus! This is really a surprise! Merlin, there's so many owls flying around near Christmas time, we must've missed yours - Would you like to join us for supper? I think Molly's just adding the finishing touches!" What brought him here today?

Professor Dumbledore shook his head politely. "No, I won't trouble you and Molly further - I really should be getting back in a few minutes. I apologize for not sending you an owl first. You see, something has recently been brought to my attention, and given the pace at which things are progressing I think it would be best if I informed you without delay."

"Urgent matters, Albus? It doesn't have to do with...You-Know-Who, surely?"

"Not quite so troublesome, Arthur, but something to take seriously nonetheless... This morning, I've received a letter from our good friend Alaster Moody - wishes for Yule, and all that. In his letter, Alaster complained of being, and I quote, 'derived of the chance to punish escaped Death Eathers due to a plot they've concocted to get Arthur's department under their thumb.' Alaster seems to believe it to be somewhat successful."

Arthur thought he felt his heart miss a beat. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised, seeing as they'd been trying to do that for almost as long as he'd been in office, but how dared they! They don't give a damn about muggles, or their welfare, let alone their artifacts! They'd rather have all the muggles tortured and killed for fun like they did on their demented Dark Lord's muggle hunts! "My department, under _their_ thumbs! Malfoy can keep dreaming!"

And Arthur's got so much planned for his department! Would he return from the Christmas break just to see Malfoy's sneering face at the door, telling him to get out of _his_ office?

"Now, perhaps there's no cause for alarm just yet, my boy," Albus put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly, "Alaster said his suspicions were based on rumours relating to certain changes in your department only - and Merlin knows he does have a tendency to overdramatize, so there might not be anything to it. I merely thought you should be aware. If Lucius is really planning something then he will likely make his move immediately after everyone return to work, having already made his preparations during the holidays. He won't give you a few days leeway, so you'll need to be on guard from the day you go back."

"Thanks for the warning," Arthur nodded. "I'll watch out."

The grandfatherly headmaster inclined his head, and took a pinch from the old jar of Floo powder. "I should return to Hogwarts before Minerva and the others finish the roast turkey without me. Please don't hesitate to owl me if Lucius attempts to pressure you on the political front... What's this?"

Arthur followed his gaze to the disorderly pile of letters on the mantelpiece. "These are some more letters that - oh, this one's from Percy, and this one's from Barty Crouch - I haven't had a chance to open. Is there something in it, Albus?"

Albus pulled a third envelope out of the pile and passed it over for Arthur to read. "This one's from Lucius Malfoy."

Malfoy!

Arthur put his son and his friend's letters safely out of the way before casting several diagnostic charms over Malfoy's letter, but there didn't seem to be anything wrong with it. No explosives, no hidden poisonous needle, no cursed pieces of paper to burn him upon contact. After looking to Albus for confirmation, Arthur gingerly opened the envelope with the tip of his wand and took out... just a normal letter, albeit written on very fine parchment.

"Strange... he's never written to me before," Arthur unfolded the letter that was apparently from Malfoy and held it out so that both he and the headmaster could read it. It went,

_'To Mr. Arthur Weasley, Head of the Department of Muggle Artifacts,_

_I believe you have received correspondence regarding a revision to the Muggle Protection Act, one that involves a number of bold initiatives such as designating a muggle market research team and a newsletter dedicated to muggles. Owing to certain challenges that one can foresee in putting these changes into practice, I am willing to assist you either personally or as a member of the senate provided that mutual benefit can be assured. It would be best if we meet soon to discuss this revision to the Muggle Protection Act in greater details. If you are interested, please reply with a time.'_

"Intriguing. This is not Lucius's usual style of bribery," Albus regarded Arthur with a questioning stare. "He realizes that he can't pay you to stop searching his manor, so he offers to support the department."

A... bribe? So that proposal, that brilliant idea he'd been telling everyone at the office about, was...

...just another of Malfoy's attempt to get his own way?

"My boy, surely you aren't intending to accept?"

"That sneaky snake!" Arthur's teeth were gritted so tightly together that he could hardly hear himself speak. He wretched that first letter he'd received out of his pocket, where it had been safely stored up to now. "'A member of the public' indeed! I bet he wrote this too, to trick me into leaving his hoard of dark magic alone! Merlin, he nearly had me sold, Albus! He was going on about how 'refocusing our attention from wizards onto monitoring muggles' can keep muggles safer - like he actually gives a damn! And 'We want to learn about the incredible ideas that the muggles have developed' - Ha! Lies! I should've expected it from those Slytherins. Of course those conniving bastards would think of something like this! And now he's gotten me to convince the largest part of my department that it's a good idea!"

Arthur half expected the headmaster to scold him for being so gullible, so he was a little surprised by the indecipherable look in the pair of usually jovial blue eyes. He might even venture to call them thoughtful, though he had no idea why. "Do only what is right, Arthur," Albus merely told him, before leaving by the Floo in a flash of green flames. Arthur was left alone with the handful of letters and a lot to think about.

Yes, he would do only what's right. He would rip Malfoy's attempt at bribing _him_ to shreds and send him the pieces! Bribing _him_, of all people! Did Malfoy think him one of his slimy business associates who can be bought off just like that? - On second thought, he still needed Malfoy's letter. He'd have to take it to the office, apologize and ask people to forget what he'd suggested. It would be embarrassing, but he'd have to do it. Can't let Malfoy get his way.

Arthur sighed, deciding to put aside Malfoy's letters in favour of more pleasant things. His busy friend Barty's letter was concise as usual, wishing him a joyful Yuletide or a merry Christmas, whichever he preferred. Percy's was much lengthier.

_'Dear Dad,_

_Thank you for the letter, and mum for the jumper and the delicious fudge. Ginny and Ron especially loved those. My NEWT studies are coming along fine. There is a lot of material to learn in the courses I've chosen, but so far it's still manageable. I think it would be better if I start preparing for the exams now rather than next year. Better safe than sorry, right?_

_Don't worry about Fred and George. I'll keep an eye on them to make sure they don't get into trouble this year. Ron's behaving himself too. I think he feels sorry about the gaffe he pulled with your car. I know we've just lost twelve galleons, but is it possible to buy him another wand this summer or in the coming year? The one he got from Charlie broke in the crash. He's making do in class by borrowing a friend's right now, so all is fine. But his friend is not always there to lend him outside of class (she is very studious and spends a lot of time in the library), and he wastes entire mornings playing exploding snap rather than practicing his spellworks. _

_Speaking of muggle artifacts, I think your idea for the revised Muggle Protection Act is great! Talk about hitting two birds with one stone! I told a muggleborn friend about it, and she's really excited about the idea of looking to the muggles for inspirations for innovation. She also looks forward to all the job opportunities that your department would create for muggleborns, who are somewhat disadvantaged in our world. Anyways, I really think people are going to love this, except Malfoy and some of the purebloods. But if they complain that you're wasting ministry resources or something, you can say you're trying to ensure muggle safety while minimizing the disturbance to magical households - as they requested! They can't argue against that!_

_Good luck on getting the amendment passed! Love,_

_Percy_

_P.S. The package you took the fudge from was Ron's. Feel free to take from mine next time. It makes things easier for everyone.'_

Oh the irony...

"It's dinner time!" Molly called. "Ah, Albus left already? I thought I heard him out here. Shame on you, Arthur! You should've made him stay... Is something the matter, honey? Why the long face?"

"These!" Arthur tossed the letters onto the table in frustration. Ministry work could be such a headache sometimes.

Percy had a good point there. Many people _would_ love the amendment - this was obvious from the positive reception it'd gotten so far. Arthur would've loved it too, if only it wasn't a part of Malfoy's plot.

But look at the first letter again, the one from 'A member of the public'. Would Malfoy know what electricity was? Or combustion engines? Would he even care to remember that the word existed, let alone how to spell it?

He was supposed to do what's right, and only what's right. But which was it? To serve the public interest even if it meant compromising with people like Malfoy, who had obvious ulterior motives? Or to be steadfast and stand his ground, but to maybe disappoint some people - like his friends from work, his son, and the young muggleborn girl? And what if there was really a fellow muggle technology enthusiast out there who'd gone through all this trouble to write to _Malfoy,_ only for Arthur to say no?

What in Merlin and Salazar's name should he do?

* * *

It was a pensive, and slightly conflicted, Albus who stepped through the Floo of the headmaster's office.

Lucius Malfoy's ... unusual political move was only one of the occurences this year that made him feel somewhat uneasy. Once again, Albus couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was. It wasn't that the idea being proposed was undesirable, of course. It was actually sensible - and surprisingly fair. It wasn't that the loss of the chance to raid the Malfoy manor would be catastrophic. Especially since so far the raids haven't been very fruitful, and Albus knew that Lucius was intelligent enough to behave himself without needing to be locked away. That is, until Tom returns... in which case Azkaban wouldn't be much use anyways. It wasn't that cooperation between Arthur and Lucius, two men who couldn't see eye to eye even when they were students, was a bad thing.

Which was why Albus couldn't impress upon Arthur that it was dangerous to consider this amendment anymore than he did. Just like he couldn't bring himself to agree with Arthur's rant that Slytherins were conniving bastards who cared only about themselves.

But Albus also knew that sometimes things would appear to be going right until it was too late. And he had a strong hunch that they were heading for some mysterious direction - on a revolutionary scale. Perhaps that was why.

Unwittingly, Albus found himself glancing up at the portrait in green, whose occupant was nonchalantly lounging across his velvet chaise and pulling at a rose leaf.

_'What are you playing at? And if you're responsible for this one as well, just how far can you reach?'_

* * *

**AN: Hope that made sense.**

**Arthur's impression that the Muggle Protection Act amendment is popular is partly due to availability bias. **

**Albus is indeed biased against Salazar, because he associates Salazar with the dark arts &amp; ambition - and by extension a certain phase of his life that he doesn't like to remember. **


	44. Year 2: Chapter 18

(After six revisions, the following letter was sent by Arthur Weasley via a rented post owl:)

_'__To Mr. Malfoy:_

_I have received your __letter about__ correspondence. I also_ _believe it best to discuss what you mean by __mutual benefit__. _

_I will __be available to meet you __in my office the mornings of the next Monday, Tuesday or Thursday. _

_Please reply with a time that I should be expecting you._

_Arthur Weasley_

_PS. I hope your intention of cooperation is sincere._

_PPS. Do note that negotiations will not include the amount of influence you have over the Department of Muggle Artifacts.'_

* * *

(A few days later, in the Daily Prophet:)

**_Change on the way for the Department of Muggle Artifacts - but not the one you're expecting!_**

_By Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet senior reporter_

_As Mr. Arthur Weasley has recently come under heavy fire when the secret of his enchanted muggle car literally flew out into the open, many readers no doubt expect his resignation in the near future._

_Well those readers will be in for a surprise. Not only will Mr. Weasley return to the Department of Muggle Artifacts following the Yule holiday, there are words that he will return with a bold new plan to take his Department in a direction that, many believe, will make the Department more relevant than ever before._

_Recognizing the current inefficiencies in the enforcement of the Muggle Protection Act, the plan seeks to shift the department's efforts from raiding magical households to eliminating hazards to muggles in the simplest and surest way possible: by comprehensively monitoring the muggle market itself. _

_This would evidently involve much manpower, and would require the deployment of all of the department's current task forces and more. However, there will be no fruitless work under Mr. Weasley's new plan. Every minute spent by ministry wizards in the muggle world will also be used to understand our non-magical neighbours better. This will be great news for anyone who's ever wondered, once in a while, just how in Merlin's name did those muggles accomplish those moving stairs near the Leaky Cauldron without magic?_

_The details are still in the works, of course, but the idea seems to be gaining steam. I chanced to meet Mr. Perkins, one of Mr. Weasley's co-workers, in front of the Leaky Cauldron yesterday. When asked about Mr. Weasley's new initiative, Mr. Perkins' reply was succinct and clear: "It's a good plan. That's all I have to say."_

_So, Mr. Weasley's penchant for flying notwithstanding, will this new initiative ...take off? _

_It seems likely. Albus Dumbledore, for one, has always stood behind Mr. Weasley and his department. _

_And as for the opposition?_

_"Perhaps I have been hasty in condemning Mr. Weasley's leadership of the Department of Muggle Artifacts," Senator Mr. Lucius Malfoy surprised me by saying. "I do not agree with the department's actions in the past, but this new initiative sounds like a sensible and meaningful goal. I wish Mr. Weasley luck in bring about this change, and I am willing to offer him my support."_

_And there you have it, my avid readers! Can the two sides work together to make this daring idea fly? Myself, like all of you, eagerly await new developments. _

_Until next time, my dear readers!_

* * *

(Meanwhile, a well-groomed owl left the Malfoy Manor with the following letter:)

_'To Mr. Weasley:_

_As you can see, I have every intention of honouring the offer in my previous letter. It is now pasted all over Diagon Alley in today's Prophet and will not be retractable._

_The operation of your department is not my expertise, nor is it of great interest to me. Thus, you can be assured that my involvement will be minimal. I will not interfere in the decisions and plans of your department - provided that they are not obviously insensible._

_I will arrive at your office the next Monday, at 10 am. I look forward to meeting with you then._

_Lucius Malfoy'_

* * *

At the Gryffindor table in Hogwarts' Great Hall, Hermione closed her copy of the Daily Prophet and smiled imperceptibly.

The appearance of this article meant that Arthur Weasley must have been somewhat receptive to Malfoy, at least receptive enough that there was no risk of him denouncing the anticipated stopping of the raids as a lie. Good.

It was evident that the Ven. Mr. Malfoy was the one who'd "leaked" the story to Rita Skeeter in the first place. The article accomplished several things, of course. Firstly, it could be used as evidence of Malfoy's "good faith" as it would force Malfoy to keep his words. Secondly, and more importantly, it ensured that Weasley couldn't simply back out anymore, now that so much of the magical population knew. It also helped that Skeeter framed the whole plan as Weasley's idea and implied that Dumbledore supported it.

And Perkins's jumping to Weasley's defence when ambushed by Skeeter? While Hermione imagined that normally such a short quote would've been difficult to use, here it was just what they needed.

Hermione took a sip of her pumpkin juice and glanced at the other end of the table, where Percy sat smiling happily in front of his own copy of the Prophet. Excellent indeed.

Surprisingly, the Prophet had deemed the article important enough to deserve a small column in the upper right corner of the front page, though Hermione suspected that it was done more as a courtesy to the prolific reporter than due to public interest. However, just the existence of this article should be enough to attract substantial media coverage to the subsequent negotiations - coverage that would be imperative to the next part of Hermione's plans…

"Wow! Isn't somebody happy today!"

Hermione looked up to see Fred nodding covertly in Percy's direction.

"Yeah, I don't think I've seen him smile like that in months. Granted, I haven't seen him much at all for months," said George, "you'd think someone secretly told him he's going to be head boy or something!"

"I think he's relieved for your dad's job," Hermione showed them the paper.

"I still don't see why he'd be so worried in the first place. Of course dad wasn't going to let Malfoy beat him...So dear Percy will be less likely to have a heart attack if we play a prank now, yes?"

"I… suppose you could say that,"

"Phew," sighed the twins, "That's good, because -"

"- we've already done it."

"Done what?" Hermione asked, curious.

"You'll see, tomorrow -"

"- or the day after -"

"- or within the week. Probably."

"-probably. Shouldn't be long now-"

"- but that'll be ok too. Didn't they say the longer you wait, the stronger it gets?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You mean you don't know when it's going to happen?"

"Not exactly," said George mysteriously, "but we think - "

"- you'll like it. See ya!"

Hermione tried to think or guess what in the seven hells did she have to do with this, but ended up drawing blanks. Ah well.

Watching the twins' retreating backs move off, she left the table to make her last trip to Diagon Alley of the holiday. With luck, there would be voice-disguising howlers for sale.

* * *

Meanwhile, on the Hogwarts Express, Blaise was doodling hippogriffs on the misted compartment window. Across from him, Theo and Daphne were engrossed in a book about magical theories and a beauty magazine respectively. The three other occupants of their compartment, three Ravenclaw firsties that had been allowed in primarily for the purpose of keeping anyone else out, were fast asleep. For all intents and purposes, they had the compartment to themselves.

"Theo, about what your father said at the winter ball... don't you think something's not adding up?" Blaise asked. He'd deliberately chosen not to discuss this in front of other Slytherins. Officially, Project Give-Lockhart-the-boot was done. He didn't want to accidentally give off the idea that he was insisting on pursuing a dead goal.

"What's not adding up?" asked Daphne.

"At the party, the Venerable Mr. Nott told us that Lockhart probably took his lessons from an old textbook from the early days of Hogwarts. I know some of us thought of this ourselves before, too, but I've been thinking about it some more and something about it doesn't seem right."

Theo raised a surprised eyebrow. "I agree. Lockhart couldn't have been just reading out of books because he wouldn't have understood any of it. I didn't know you were still thinking about this as well."

"But the books have translation charms on them, so Lockhart wouldn't have had any trouble with the Latin right?"

"No, I don't mean that," Theo clarified, "Lockhart might've been able to read the words, but how was he able to answer all our questions? He would have to actually understand and learn what's written in the books, and I don't think he could've done that. If he really gets all the things he taught us, he wouldn't be half as awful as he is."

"Exactly!" Blaise simply couldn't see Lockhart as someone who actually gave a rat's fart about what he was teaching. If Lockhart had even only practiced a few notes of Nocturne every day like he'd advised the class to do, he wouldn't have messed up his spells so badly! And he would've been able to invent some proper spells, or at least ones that were more effective than the peskipixie whatsit, wouldn't he? "There has to be something else going on."

"Well, what are your theories?" asked Daphne, interested.

Blaise and Theo looked back and forth between each other for about a full minute. Eventually, they both admitted, "… No idea."

"It does seem like a bit too much work on Lockhart's part," nodded Daphne, "but remember that he could've just been very lucky. I mean, I've taken a look at the books, and they seem to be very comprehensive. Maybe we just haven't been asking the difficult questions."

"That's possible," Theo admitted thoughtfully. Blaise could see the merit of her point. In every one of Lockhart's lessons, they had a lot of new ideas to take in. And didn't Lockhart seemed to be flipping through his notes a lot?

But still…

"Of course, we can still verify whether this is true if you really want," Daphne said placatingly, "We can take extremely detailed notes during his classes and review them when we get back to the common room. And in the next class, we grill him about it."

But no one really had anything else to add to the topic.

"Oh, did anyone read today's Prophet? Who wants to bet that Skeeter's article was real?"

* * *

**AN: Very sorry for not updating for so long. The next update will probably be around Christmas...**


	45. Year 2: Chapter 19

"Isn't it great that everyone's back at school, brother dear?" asked George

"Oh yes, certainly. Noise and din, just as we like it," smirked Fred. Indeed, the Great Hall was once again filled and busy as usual. To his right, he could see Percy trying to discreetly sneak off to who knows where. To his left, little Sally was being gifted a rose cutting by Neville Longbottom as a belated Christmas present - which Fred thought would've been kind of sweet if there was actually a flower on the branch, rather than just a bare branch from the rosebush outside sticking out of a pot of dirt. Whatever. At the Head Table, Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape were each reading a copy of the Daily Prophet. "Hey look, Lockhart's not at breakfast yet."

"Yeah, this is late even for him… Do you think he finally ate our Christmas presents?"

"The chocolate cauldrons filled with love potion -"

"- made from his own hair?"

They sniggered. "Maybe."

"How long do you think it'll take for people to figure out that Lockhart's been drugged?"

Fred expressed that maybe they won't notice the effect ever, because Lockhart probably loved himself enough already. "I still wish we could've just spiked his pumpkin juice with it at breakfast though. Too bad these goblets vanish everything automatically whenever we try to put potions in." Indeed, the last time they'd snuck into the kitchen to drug the turkey with a giddiness potion, but inadvertently caused the whole dish to vanish. The house elves weren't very happy with them, needless to say.

"We have to at least get an account of how it went," George decided. "Who has his class first?"

"Second year Slytherins, I think."

"Aw, damn it. Snape's going to find out for sure!"

* * *

Meanwhile, Blaise, Theo and Daphne had arrived in the Defence classroom with well-stocked inkwells and newly sharpened quills, fully ready to record as much of Lockhart's lesson as they possibly could. Instead, they walked in on their famed Defence "professor" mashing his puckered lips against one of his various portraits around the room - and loudly too.

The sheer astonishment, disgust and fascination caused by the sight before them caused the second year Slytherins to freeze at the door for a full minute, yet their "professor" didn't seem to notice at all. Nor did he give any indication of being aware of his ... audience when they decided to wait politely at their desks for him to finish.

Finally, Daphne had enough. "Good morning_, p__rofessor. _What will we be learning today?"

Lockhart finally turned around to give her an extremely annoyed glare. "Can't you see I'm busy?" he demanded, and wasted no time in turning back around to pick up where he'd left off. Daphne and Gaius's eyes actually bugged out at this, and they mouthed a silent "WHAT?" at each other.

The Lockhart in the portrait actually looked quite flattered by the attention, Blaise thought, even though his flamingo coloured robes were becoming smudged due to the corporeal Lockhart's slobbering.

Ten minutes later, the class of second year students silently fled the room. It was generally frowned upon for Slytherins to walk out of a class since it was a punishable offence and didn't reflect well on one's tolerance, but this time they really couldn't take it anymore. The other Lockharts on the wall looked as if they were considering the prospect of joining in.

"Unprecedented level of narcissism!" Daphne exclaimed the moment they returned to the common room, attracting the curious glances of some upper years on break.

"Shameless public display of - of -" Yelled Millicent. Blaise figured she was about to say affection, but couldn't quite bring herself to use the word to describe such an obnoxious sight. "- of whatever the hell that was!"

"Ewwww..." Draco could only manage. Mark told him he couldn't have said it better.

"Hey, don't you lot have class right now?" Asked Adrian Pucey and Marcus Flint from two different corners of the common room.

The second years took a minute to consider how to phrase this. "Lockhart decided that he's less interested in teaching us than snogging his own portrait," said Theo.

They were left alone by the upper years after that. Although, this may have been because the older students had all left after Pucey muttered something about keeping a "pensieve" and Flint chuckled and announced that he was going to go and watch.

"This supports my point though," said Daphne quietly. "He might've gotten lucky with the questions in class, but there's no one to stop him from embarrassing himself in other situations."

"Situations like the Duelling Club, yes," agreed Theo, "but I still think there's got to be more to it though."

"You think someone slipped him a love potion or put him under some sort of spell today?" Blaise theorized, "I mean, we all know he's smitten with himself but he's never gone so far as to spend a whole morning kissing his own picture before."

"Probably," nodded Daphne.

"So he's probably not really thinking for himself today," ventured Blaise.

"True, but that doesn't tell us anything though."

Blaise had to agree. It was hard to carry out a debate when he didn't even know what theory he was trying to support.

"At the Duelling Club, Lockhart gave some instructions on duelling forms," Theo said after a while, "he even walked around to correct people - mind, he didn't get to check our side of the room, so we don't exactly know how well he was instructing people... But still, I don't think Understanding the Dark Arts, volume 1 and 2 went into that much details on duelling forms. I mean, it would make sense, since that's something you would normally teach in a class if you could, right?"

"So how did Lockhart know so much about duelling?" wondered Blaise excitedly. "He could've looked it up in another book, but that would involve him doing research, and I really can't see that happening."

"There is that..." Allowed Daphne, "but could it be possible that someone taught him duelling back in his school days? He would've just learned the basics - the forms and such - but he never practiced so he's still as shoddy a wizard as ever."

"But if you didn't really care for duelling in the first place and never practiced, why would you take the trouble to remember the forms?" Countered Theo.

"True, you wouldn't," Daphne nodded, "So what exactly do you guys think is happening?"

Blaise and Theo shrugged.

"Either he's trying really really hard to make himself look dumb - no, that doesn't make sense at all..."

"Or maybe he's really good at some things and bad at others? But why pretend then? Why give us all that peskipixie crap? It still doesn't make sense!"

"Oh, or maybe he's getting help from someone?"

"But how? There's no one else in the class when he's teaching!"

"I heard there's a spell that makes you invisible," said Theo, who was scratching his head, "but it'll make you invisible to everyone, including Lockhart. Whoever's helping him can still talk, I guess, but we would've heard them."

"But can't you cast a sound blocking charm for that?" wondered Blaise, "Oh wait... true, that wouldn't work for the same reason."

"Maybe they're whispering in his ear?" suggested Daphne.

"That's possible... if they're really tiny and sat on his shoulder."

They giggled at that. The thought of Lockhart carrying an invisible mini-person on his shoulder was funny.

"That's actually possible," Theo realized, "isn't there such things called two-way mirrors? Maybe there's one of those hidden on him somewhere... But then there's the motivation of whoever's helping him, if there's such a person. I mean, how would they benefit? Why don't they just come and teach us themselves? In fact, why don't they just apply to the Defence position for the next five years so that we don't have to suffer another idiot teacher ever again?"

"True... So what else could be happening, if there's no one helping Lockhart teach?"

There were shrugs all around this time. They continued to throw suggestions around, but still nothing really stuck out as a particularly likely one. If anything, Blaise thought their guesses might be becoming more and more ludicrous. By the time Pucey and Flint returned chuckling about the exclamations made upon witnessing Lockhart by Professors Flitwick and Snape, the former becoming suspicious after seeing fourth year Slytherins wandering in and out of a second year class and the latter arriving to administer a love potion antidote at his tiny colleague's bequest, Theo had started to suggest that maybe Lockhart had been struck with some curse that inhibited his brain from time to time.

Finally, Daphne suggested, "We haven't asked Sal and Harry yet. Maybe they'll have some more ideas."

All agreeing that this was the most sensible thing to do, Blaise, Daphne, and Theo began to work on their transfiguration homework.

* * *

"... So anyways, it was hilarious. And pretty gross. Flint says by the time Professor Snape got there, Lockhart was doing... a little more than snogging. Whatever that was supposed to mean."

Hermione smirked at Daphne's account of their morning Defense class and hid her growing unease. Well, it wasn't so much that she was disturbed by Lockhart making a right fool of himself as... "but you still think there's more to him?"

Theo nodded. "He knew more than he should at the Duelling Club."

And therein lay the problem. She had anticipated individuals being curious about Lockhart's sudden increase in competence levels, but she hadn't counted on anybody being so determined to solve the mystery. Well, there was Dumbledore and perhaps some of the professors, but they would have very little first-hand information.

Why, oh why did Lockhart have to insist on helping with the Duelling Club, forcing her to teach him forms? And why couldn't he have just kept up the illusion of competence all the way, rather than blowing his own cover with his atrocious attempt at a simple _rennervate_? Well, that was really her fault she supposed. She'd allowed herself to get injured... which incidentally was what had prompted her well-meaning friends to take a closer look at Lockhart in the first place.

That mistake had even more repercussions than she'd initially realized. While she was glad that Blaise, Daphne and Theo were observant enough to catch on to these details, it created still more complications for her. Because although there were many possible explanations for everything she made Lockhart do or say individually, if one tried to string them into an all-encompassing theory... Well... "And, er, what's our working theory again?"

"That someone's helping him, probably."

"And you really don't think he could've done some research after one of the professors asked him to help with the Duelling Club? He was a Ravenclaw, remember?"

Everyone shook their head in disbelief. Pity. It was worth a shot.

"Do you think it might be one of your parents' friends, then? I mean, it would make sense that they want us to know what the dark arts really mean, right? and It would be weird for them to come and teach as themselves, because didn't you say some of them are not on very good terms with Professor Dumbledore?"

Daphne chuckled. "You could say that again,"

"But that would make sense," nodded Harry. "They would know that Lockhart needed... help, because they went to school with him. And they, erm, wouldn't mind making deals with him, right?"

"It does sound like the sort of deal they would make," agreed Theo thoughtfully.

"Maybe that's it!" said Blaise excitedly. Thankfully, they were too deep in the library to be heard by Madame Pince. "At Malfoy's Winter Ball, Mr. Malfoy and Theo's father more or less ordered us to stop trying to get the dolt fired because he's helping to clear the stigma of the Dark Arts. Maybe that's why they told us to leave Lockhart alone... because they already have a hold on him!"

"Aw! Well why couldn't they've just told us that and saved us all that trouble?" Daphne pouted. "Adults and their damned secrets..."

Content, they ended their regular library meeting there, and Hermione made sure to act normal as she and Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower. So now they think some mysterious person out there is telling Lockhart what to teach, which was not ideal. But it was better that having them run around suspicious and attracting the attention of their esteemed headmaster, and she simply couldn't make them forget their theory without wiping around a month's worth of their memories. The only thing she could do now is convince them that the mystery is solved, and let the whole matter get buried deeper and deeper in their minds where it would be less likely to shout "read me" at inconvenient twinkling eyed leglimens at the wrong time.

But this imposes a much tighter time constraint on her work, because now she really needed Lockhart gone as soon as possible. The last thing she needed was for Dumbledore to be made curious enough to want to ask Lockhart who was helping him under veritasium, then to hear the reply "Salazar". Then, depending on whether or not he was aware that Voldemort had a horcrux, he may or may not begin to theorize that Salazar Slytherin had one somewhere as well, and then all hell would break loose... No, as soon as Dumbledore catches on, Lockhart needs to disappear from the picture no matter her progress. She would simply have to try again if everything unravelled.

But it would be _such_ a pity, to have come so far only to just fall short.

Hermione absentmindedly squirted some water into the pot sustaining the rose branch that she'd promised Neville she'd take good care of, and cast a small shield around it so that it would be undisturbed. One of the reasons she admired the apothecary's rose so much, apart from its magical properties, was its resiliency. A single live branch could take roots and eventually grow back to what it was always meant to be - but until then it was still so damned fragile...

It all came down to how soon she could finish the remainder of her plans, then. Negotiations for the Muggle Protection Act seems to be moving adequately well toward some kind of resolution, but it could not be rushed... Well, they did say patience is a virtue.

And besides, if her plans progress without too much complications then the rewards would be quite great indeed. She would look forward to that.

There was a gush of wind as Mercury soared in through her window. "Decided to visit me?" Hermione asked gently, and patted the silver-grey owl that nibbled at her fingers. "Remember to get enough rest, my beauty. There's going to be a difficult job for you up ahead."

* * *

**AN: Yay! I'm ahead of schedule**

**You might find that chapter 1 - 3 look a little bit different, due to some editing to replace some boring parts with slightly more interesting ones. It doesn't change the storyline though, so don't worry about it :D**


	46. Year 2: Chapter 20

"I still think this line here, the Department's right to inspect personal properties of Citizens is henceforth revoked… is too absolute. It should be changed to 'will be limited'."

"Ah, but why ever would you wish to diminish the rights of our citizens without cause, Mr. Weasley?"

"It'll make the muggles even safer -"

"Hardly, Mr. Weasley, as long as your Department is doing its job properly. Besides, if we write 'will be limited', people will think that you want to pry into their lives for some ulterior motives, no?"

"You'd know all about ulterior motives, Malfoy…"

"Now, now, let's use our limited meeting time to discuss something more productive, shall we? …"

Lucius waved nonchalantly at two stony-faced Department of Muggle Artifacts workers as he left yet another tedious meeting with Arthur Weasley. How annoying it was to play "nice" with that uncouth blood-traitor! If it hadn't been for the fact that Lucius had more self-restraint than most due to his father's disciplining and his education in Slytherin, he would've had Weasley frothing at the mouth in minutes.

But tedious though it may be, this was the closest he'd came to stopping those stupid raids for good. He wasn't about to let all that hard work and forced smiles go to waste now.

_'Just a few more days at most, and then I won't have anything to do with him…'_

* * *

"... and the senate has already agreed to double your department's annual budget, provided -"

"My department reserves the right to make our own decisions, Malfoy. In case we're not clear, this will include starting and terminating projects, hiring and promotion of employees, and allocation of funds within the department."

"Of course, of course. As long as this Amendment takes effect, is what I meant to say."

Arthur showed Lucius Malfoy out of his office after yet another tedious meeting with said blond ponce. How taxing it was to play "nice" with that Death Eater! Three times during this one meeting, he'd considered tearing up the half-written Amendment. He actually had no idea how he'd managed not to throw Malfoy out his door yet.

Another letter appeared in his mailbox.

_'Dear Mr. Weasley,_

_I'd just like to tell you how much I love your new and improved Muggle Protection Act! I really like how it creates opportunities for us to learn something about the muggles while we protect them at the same time. Talk about shooting two birds with one stone, huh? And I agree with you that a newspaper about trends in muggle technologies is just what we need...'_

This, these letters, were the reason, Arthur supposed. People were _counting_ on him now, and he really didn't want to let them down. He had to make this project go through, which meant that he needed resources, which meant that he had to tolerate Malfoy for a little longer.

There was also that small vindictive pleasure of knowing that Malfoy's gold and cunning will be used to protect muggles, educate the magical population on muggles lifestyles, and create jobs for muggleborns. He bet the snobby blood-purist loved that.

_'Just a few more days at most, and then I won't have much to do with him...'_

* * *

_**'Muggle Protection Act Amendment to be signed Monday**_

_By Alec Hasting, Daily Prophet politics correspondent_

_A__fter what appears to be weeks of negotiations, our insider source informs us that the amendment of the controversial Muggle Protection Act has finally been finalized. A formal announcement will be made by the Department of Muggle Artifacts on the coming Monday morning…'_

Hermione neatly refolded her copy of the Prophet. Glancing up at the High Table, she saw Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape do the same.

Finally.

* * *

Monday morning six o'clock, a lone figure and a formerly silver-grey but currently charcoal black owl appeared seemingly out of nowhere in the still empty Whitehall Road.

"Remember this face, Mercury?" the girl showed the owl a picture of a well-dressed man with long blond hair, then tied a small, disillusioned two-way mirror onto the owl's head. "You have to trust me, Mercury. I wouldn't do this if the task isn't so complicated. This is going to feel bizarre, but I won't let any harm come to you. I promise."

The owl couldn't exactly understand her words but knew that she meant well, so it hooted softly and nudged her hand.

"Thank you, Mercury. Imperio."

* * *

Monday morning eight o'clock, reporters from various publications began to gather in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Looking about her, Rita Skeeter could see many familiar faces. There was good old Robert from Witches Weekly, that annoying Brenda from the Sunday Hoot, and Donovan the photographer, who was from Witches Weekly as well. Then there was also old Xenophilius Lovegood from the Quibbler, but he probably came to look for Nargles or something.

For a seemingly boring announcement like this, Rita noticed, the Atrium was surprisingly full. But the interest was probably not in what the Department of Muggle Artifact wanted to do, but in the fact that the two primary supporters for the amendment, Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley, were notoriously unable to stand each other. Good journalists sniff out situations that can _potentially_ turn into front page material. And after what happened in Flourish and Blotts in September, it wasn't surprising that many people brought cameras.

Rita personally didn't think those hopeful photographers would get _that_ lucky this time, but they'll see.

None of the journalists, not even the ever-watchful Rita, noticed the black owl perched on a shadowy alcove high above their heads.

* * *

Monday morning nine o'clock, Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley stood side by side in the Atrium.

Lucius let his face slide easily into his practiced, coolly polite "press release" face. The Weasel, meanwhile, looked a little uncomfortable. It appears that he was not used to speaking in front of so many reporters - which was probably true, and for good reasons. Up to now, his department just barely made it onto the politics section of the Prophet.

But Lucius refrained from showing any derision. He would do that on his own time.

"We have amended the Muggle Protection Act to allow for more effective, well, protection of muggles against enchanted items, as well as to increase the gains of our magical society. By the amended Muggle Protection Act, the Department of Muggle Artifact will cease to randomly inspect residences for muggle-like objects. Its task forces will be remobilized to monitor muggle stores for magical objects. Should a magical object be found and traced back to one of its previous magical owners, the aforementioned wizard or witch shall be charged a fine, between one sickle to one thousand galleons, depending on the severity of threat to muggle safety." Weasley delivered his part of the announcement. "The amendment will remove any potential confusion of the definition of a 'muggle-like object'. This change in the method of enforcement of the Muggle Protection Act will also create an opportunity for us to gather timely information on current trends in the muggle market."

Now it was Lucius's turn. "The senate is in full support of this amendment and the restructuring of the department to support it. It is also in favour of the decision to double the Department of Muggle Artifact's annual budget to partially offset the salary expenses of the additional employees." And he made especially sure to smile "sincerely". One must be careful with cameras around.

The next part of his speech was very carefully worded. He had to appear to support Weasley's muggle-loving motivations as much as possible, while refraining from going overboard. The purebloods already knew his true opinions because most of them were also in on this, but if he actually ended up _encouraging_ the public to muggle-fy themselves more than they already did then they might begin repaving Diagon Alley to make it car compatible. "I believe it is high time for us to _understand_ our muggle neighbours better. Up to now our society lacked a reliable, up-to-date source of information on their lives and their culture… but the market research and publications produced by the restructured Department of Muggle Artifact will change this. In support of this bold endeavour to benefit the _magical_ society, the Malfoy family will donate five hundred thousand galleons to help finance the capital costs - and I encourage the public to contribute as well if you are able to do so."

Here Lucius had to work a little harder to keep his face convincing. To say that he was not used to asking for financial aid in any form in any fashion would be an understatement… Yet in this case the "plea for help" made it seem less like a one-man funded project and consequently toned down the suspicion level, so he made an exception.

They were then met with a round of polite applause, the customary cue for journalists to surround the speakers and begin firing questions. Weasley's questioning seemed to revolve around "Please elaborate on the reasons for the amendment". Lucius's questioning went mostly along the lines of,

"Mr. Malfoy, I understand that you did not approve of the Department of Muggle Artifact in the past …"

"Mr. Malfoy, how do you see muggle technology in the lives of we witches and wizards? What place will it take?..."

"Mr. Malfoy, what is your opinion on the optimal muggle-magic relationship?"

Of course, there was also the occasional "Mr. Malfoy, what did you do to manipulate Weasley into calling off the raids?" in disguise, asked by a couple of relatively new reporters who thought themselves clever. But Lucius was able to… deter those from becoming troublesome fairly easily.

Suddenly, Lucius felt a gust of wind whoosh past overhead. Hurrying to protect his hair (one picture of him with messy hair just might be front-page worthy), he looked up to see a black owl swoop away into whatever passage it entered from. Odd, since owl deliveries to the Ministry were generally deposited at a collective mailbox outside then transported from there to the individual mailboxes in the offices. Then he saw all the hungry, anticipating eyes around him and realized that a red envelope had been deposited at his feet.

Lucius was weighing the disadvantages of destroying the howler against the benefits when it opened itself and started shrieking in a whiny, nasally voice,

"MALFOY! YOU SLIMY SNAKE! DON'T YOU PRANCE AROUND WITH THAT SMUG SMILE! NEVER TRUST A DARK WIZARD, MY MOTHER ALWAYS SAID! AND, AND YOU'RE NOT FOOLING ME! DID YOU HEAR THAT? YOU AND YOUR SLYTHERIN CRONIES ARE NOT FOOLING ME! YOU'RE JUST DOING THIS TO MAKE YOURSELF LOOK GOOD - WELL GUESS WHAT? IT'S NOT WORKING! YOU LOT THINK YOU'RE SO CUNNING - HA! DON'T EVEN DENY IT! OR ELSE YOU'RE UP TO SOMETHING! YOU'RE ROTTEN! YOU AND ALL YOUR SLYTHERIN CRONIES WHO CAME OUT OF THAT EFFING HOUSE ARE ALL ROTTEN TO THE CORE! AND, AND -"

Lucius silenced the howler with his cane and let his smile slide into a somewhat offended frown. "Sorry for the interruption."

On the inside he was laughing.

This howler had combined most of the things people wanted to tell him, but never dared to _say out loud,_ into the single most ill-constructed argument ever - no, argument was too generous a term to describe it. Of all the things they could've accused him of, this rant had somehow managed to avoid making a single substantial claim. Now what would be the best way to make his opposition look bad?

All the journalists had gathered around him now to watch his reaction - even the ones previously badgering Weasley. They would love what he'd say next.

"I generally entertain only _civil_ correspondence, but it seems I must make an exception in this case. I can tolerate the insults to myself," he could afford to be magnanimous here. It was simply so easy. "but I will not tolerate such blatantly ungrounded slandering of my alma mater. The author of this letter seems to believe that due to House Slytherin's teachings, all of its students are -" he considered saying Death Eaters, but decided that it would be risky. Better use something neutral. "- out to destroy society with the dark arts."

And even if it wasn't quite exactly the point that the author of the howler wanted to make, who could blame him? There was a reason that indiscernible rants were rarely heard in a senate or Wizengamote debate.

"To the author of this letter, I will ask you to refrain from shrieking in public when your opinion is so obviously uninformed. I shudder to think of the terrors that would plague us today if not for work of alumni of House Slytherin over the ages - including wolfbane potion and about half of the healing potions available to St. Mungo's. I also suspect you are ignorant of the length that Salazar Slytherin himself went through to preach responsible use of magic. In fact, if one has done a bit of research one would have found, in Slytherin's literature, detailed explanations of how many spells we label "dark" should be used for good."

And there! Lucius was rather pleased with himself for his handling of the howler. At worst he would divert attention from the amended Muggle Protection Act - and more importantly his involvement in it - onto this much more controversial topic altogether. At best he might even convince people to seriously consider the idea that dark arts might not be evil. (Whether it was true or not was irrelevant, actually.)

If people had a problem with the radical argument? It was the book's words, not his. They were more than welcomed to try sending howlers at the thousand-year deceased Salazar Slytherin if they wanted.

"If I may ask, Mr. Malfoy, is there any way we can check the validity of these claims?" A reporter called.

"I own a copy of the books, but Borgins and Burkes in Knocturn Alley owns the originals complete with the centuries-old anti-tampering spells - which I'm sure he would be agreeable to displaying for public viewing. If you really want to be sure you're getting the truth, then I'd advise you to read the originals." Lucius told him with a perfect polite smile. The faces around the room looked as if they'd struck a goldmine, so Lucius readied himself and asked the obvious. "Now, any more questions?"

* * *

"Mr. Malfoy! Are you defending the dark arts?"

"I'm informing you of the existence of certain 'lost' literature that offers some interesting perspectives. In Understanding the Dark Arts, Slytherin wrote that the Dark Arts were simply the name given to the most potent of magic, and were neither good nor evil. The remainder of the book describes how spells we label as dark could be used as effective ways to prevent violence, ward properties, prevent blood loss, reduce pain during surgery and the likes - complete with evidence of course."

"Mr. Malfoy! What is your opinion on this then?"

"I have yet to find anything illogical in Slytherin's logic here. Have you?"

"Mr. Malfoy! Are you saying that dark arts are good?"

"I'm informing the public that in the book Understanding the Dark Arts, Slytherin reasoned the Dark Arts were simply the name given to the most potent of magic, neither good nor evil."

"Mr. Malfoy! ...""Mr. Malfoy!..."

Hermione watched pandemonium unfold among the reporters (expertly handled by the Venerable Mr. Malfoy, however) through the small mirror nestled between the pages of her book. _'Mercury, fly out of the building the way you entered. Take care not to be seen. Then return to Hogwarts and wait in Hermione Granger's dormitory. Take breaks in your flight as needed.'_

"…Miss Granger. Summarize what I just said about the three uses of boomslang fangs in potion."

"Er, yes sir. One of the uses is to increase the speed at which slow-acting ingredients such as pufferfish eyes take effect. Another use is in the blood-replenishing potion to prevent clotting due to the sudden increase in blood solute concentration. Boomslang fangs are also used in various magical poisons."

"Five points to Gryffindor for studying independently. Six points from Gryffindor for not paying attention in class. As I was about to say before Miss Granger kindly informed you, the third use of boomslang fangs is to increase the acting speed of certain potion ingredients. And as I was saying, I would take careful notes on this one if I were you because you will not find it in this textbook…"

Rather embarrassed at being caught out, Hermione quickly disabled her mirror and listened earnestly. Her classmates were probably going to take the mickey later, she'd bet (_'Can you believe it? Teacher's pet Granger just lost us a point for not paying attention in class!'_). Ah well. She'd tell them she thought she'd found a pimple or something if they saw the mirror. Which would be still more embarrassing _('Can you believe it? Granger didn't pay attention in class today because she was busy staring at her own face!'),_ but she was in too good a mood to care.

All went as planned. While she'd wanted _both_ the stopping of the ministry raids and the muggle market newsletter, her primary goal had been to reignite public interest in the nature of the Dark Arts as a controversy. The idea of cooperation between Weasley and Malfoy attracted an audience of good reporters. Then, by playing devil's advocate and by providing Lucius Malfoy with an obvious counterargument, an opportunity was created - or one might call it an incentive - for Malfoy to defend the Dark Arts in public. Such a controversial idea would of course become THE topic of debate for at least the next month or so, creating a reason for various newspapers to receive and publish half a dozen passionate letters to the editor, each one written by a different Dicto-quill…In addition, the embarrassing reception of her "howler" should hopefully discourage people from bombarding Weasley with hate-mail if they'd been so inclined. Three birds, one stone, so to say.

Of course, she still had to write the letters, but the most difficult part was over. She'd more or less won.

Hermione steepled her fingers, and let just a tiny bit of her elation show.

Twelve years ago she was resurrected in person. Now, her legacy will be revived as well, one step at a time.

_'And one step closer to true resurrection...'_

* * *

**A.N.: The main idea of Sally's plan during the past six chapters was to create a small controversy through setting up the Amendment, then steering the debate onto the dark arts. Meanwhile, get something out of resolving the small controversy as a bonus... I hope it made sense, and I really hope it's worthy of Sally Slytherin :D**


	47. Year 2: Chapter 21

_'Dear Editor,_

_I've read Ms. Skeeter's article, and Mr. Malfoy's surprising revelation, in Tuesday's paper and I simply felt I had to say something._

_In her article, Ms. Skeeter pondered a multitude of "possibilities". She asked whether our world has gotten Dark Arts all wrong. She asked whether our laws regarding the Dark Arts need to be amended "for the betterment of our society". She even asked whether we should actually allow witches and wizards to use the Dark Arts, legally._

_True, the book that Mr. Malfoy referred to does exist. True, two antique enthusiasts in addition to Borgins have verified that it was genuine. True, Salazar Slytherin really did advocate for the use of Dark Arts for good, and wasn't an amoral terrorist like we thought. True, maybe he isn't even a bigoted blood-purist like we thought._

_But what does it matter if a long-dead wizard was actually good and not evil? It does not change the fact that today, Dark Arts is being used to wreak havoc on our lives! In the last century alone we've seen two wars, both caused by madmen wielding dark spells as weapons!_

_Please, I know that all shocking discoveries inspire many questions. But for our own safety, we should not get carried away. Legalizing Dark Arts is a can of worms that should never be opened. Let's just change Slytherin's chocolate frog card and leave it at that._

_Sincerely,_

_Charles Spinner'_

At the Daily Prophet, Emily Anderson came across this letter among two dozen others of varying quality and opinions. Skeeter's writing certainly never failed to rile people up.

To be honest, Emily didn't appreciate the way Skeeter put the Dark Arts in a good light. Merely thinking about what the last dark lord did made her shudder. But she understood that articles like this brought in the money. Besides, who was she, a junior editor, to say no to a star writer like Rita Skeeter? Especially this time, when what she wrote was all actually true?

At least people out there share her worries, Emily thought as she fished Charles Spinner's letter out of the pile again. It was fairly comprehensible and logical, unlike some of the others. She'd try her best to convince the boss to publish this, preferably in a fairly visible position too.

Charles Spinner deserved to be heard.

* * *

_'Dear Editor,_

_I've read the article written by Ms. Skeeter on Tuesday. I've also read the letter you published from a fellow reader, Charles Spinner, and found some of the points he made quite profound. Mr. Spinner is concerned that a slackening of laws regarding the Dark Arts would create dangerous situations, a sentiment that I understand perfectly._

_But one of his points made me wonder. As Mr. Spinner wrote, "madmen wielding Dark Arts as weapons" were responsible for the catastrophe of the past two magical wars. But isn't Dark Arts just that: tools? In the hands of madmen, they cause grief and suffering. Yet, in the hands of the good and responsible, can it not be used to better the world, as Ms. Skeeter had theorized?_

_In fact, I suspect that our ignorance of the Dark Arts is a part of what fuels the problem. After all, eight centuries of laws have not stopped Grindleward and the most recent dark lord from becoming what they were. Yet, these past two wars would have been much less destructive if the common people knew how to cast a dark ward on their homes, or a pain controlling spell on their companions, or how to control the Fiendfyre that would otherwise burn down their house, or even some of the more potent spells to counter the spells of their attackers (for as Wilhelm Slinkhart argues, there is no fundamental difference between a curse and a countercurse). I too have sought out the book on everyone's tongue these days, Understanding the Dark Arts, out of curiosity. Although it does not name the incantation of any spell, it was really an eye opener in just how many ways dark can be used to counter dark._

_I think whether we open a can of worms or not, we all need to understand the Dark Arts better._

_Your faithful reader,_

_Olivia Dickens'_

"More letters, Emma?"

"Yes, sir. Er, this one addresses a previous letter to the editor from another reader. Should we publish this?"

"Sure! It's not as if the lady insulted or said anything rude about this Charles Spinner, is it? Ha, now what we need is for Spinner to send us another rebuttal. A good debate always attracts plenty of attention!"

"True," Emma conceded, "as readers they don't need to maintain any semblance of objectivity like we do."

"Exactly! Charles Spinner and Olivia Dickens… Here's to hoping they don't get bored any time soon, because this is gold!"

* * *

_'Dear Editor,_

_I noticed the letter you published from fellow reader Olivia Dickens, and I felt that I should reply._

_I agree that a better understanding of many of the things we classify as Dark Arts might be beneficial. However, the truth remains that the Dark Arts is a collection of very dangerous magic. I am very concerned that making such potent magic more easily accessible would create trouble for both ourselves and our muggle neighbours. _

_I think a comprehensive and complicated system of regulations need to be worked out before we even begin considering legalizing the Dark Arts. For example, who is reliable enough to have access to the incantations? How do we control the flow of information? _

_I think once we have answers to these questions, it would be safe to explore the Dark Arts further. But judging by the pace at which things get done these days, it would take a miracle…__'_

* * *

_'Dear Editor,_

_I'd just like to express that I think Mr. Spinner made a very good point about matching potential with control. I am also hopeful that one day we will have the answers to the questions he raised, and sooner rather than later._

_On another note, I also read your most recent article about Whizz Hard Books re-investigating the biography of Salazar Slytherin and the other Hogwarts Founders...'_

* * *

At Hogwarts, Gilderoy was becoming more and more nervous by the day. This certainly won't do, especially since he'd heard that anxiety cause one to grow old faster.

Everything was going so well until Christmas! He didn't know just what happened after the children went home, but when they came back three of the students have somehow developed a habit of asking ridiculously detailed questions on everything he said! And if that wasn't enough, the whole of the second year Slytherin class was starting to follow their example! Teaching was becoming harder and harder for him, and it was also becoming harder and harder to duck into his office quickly enough to dodge the bombardment of questions. So far he'd been able to just fend them off because Salazar can mostly predict what they might ask, but this also meant that Gilderoy now had to flip through pages of writing and actually _search_ for the information he need!

Gilderoy fell into his chair with a sigh of exhaustion. "Why can't they just be satisfied with what I'm teaching them already?" The photo of his beautiful self on his desk nodded with pity.

His fellow professors also seem to have something against him now, even though he had no idea how. He supposed it might've had something to do with Valentine Day. He'd good-heartedly decorated the Great Hall beautifully and hired some dwarf cupids to deliver valentines to spread the cheer – and of course, since the students loved him so much, he'd received fifty cards and five singing valentines throughout the day. A poor dear had also sent him a singing love letter at dinner. It was rather sweet, especially the part,

"I know you don't notice me because you're famous

and I'm just a little boy,

and I sit in the back of your class because

I'm afraid to get in your way.

I know you might think my red hair's ugly,

But I don't really mind

If it'll make me just a little

Easier for you to find…

But I will always dream of you,

and a kiss from you would be heaven-sent…"

Oh, Gilderoy had been the perfect celebrity. He'd looked suitably flattered, then clearly announced that while he regrettably couldn't give his young fan that kind of attention because his love belonged to all his fans, he should not despair. And that while he cannot have the real "magical me" he could still purchase a copy of his book. But unfortunately his fellow professors were so worried for the poor boy that they felt they had to blame someone! They insisted that Gilderoy was a bad influence on the students, and that he should not be encouraging them, and that he should stop winking at them so often – which would hardly be fair, in Gilderoy's opinion, because he strongly felt it was a gift that all of his fans deserved. But alas! Not everyone could be as considerate as himself.

And throughout all this, Gilderoy keep getting the annoying little suspicion that he was being watched. Yes, he realized that his highly observant nature was likely making him paranoid, but he just had to be sure. Salazar had promised that he wouldn't tell anyone anything to wreck his reputation. He couldn't anyways, since Gilderoy always kept him safely hidden within his bag. But recently Gilderoy couldn't help but remember that young Miss Hermione knew about Salazar's diary. Not a lot, mind, but what if she tells someone that she'd given Professor Lockhart a strange book? What if they ask to see it? True, Gilderoy most likely wouldn't be coming back next year in any case, since he'd finally found another lead – a nice adventure five-year-long and all, just what he needed to restore his mysteriousness… But Gilderoy would rather not take the risk.

Which was why after class, Gilderoy held the girl behind and asked her whether she would like to help him collect some potion ingredients in the Forbidden Forest tonight. She readily agreed.

Gilderoy then asked her to meet him at the main gates at nine, and not to breathe a word to anyone about this lest they become jealous and thought him unfair. She easily agreed again.

Gilderoy met her earnest face with his best winning smile and sent her on her way. Everything went without a hitch, and at nine o'clock he found the girl waiting patiently for him. "Ooh I've never been in the forest before," she bounced on her feet excitedly, "They said there's monsters in the forest! But it's okay… I'm not scared because I know I'll be safe with you, professor." If it was any consolation to her, Gilderoy thought, at least she got to go on a walk with _the _Gilderoy Lockhart, even though she wouldn't remember any of it. If fact, to remove a memory from so long ago, she probably wouldn't be remembering any of the past year. Or three. Or five, give or take… But really, not many fans could claim that honour.

"So what are we here for, professor?" Hermione smiled up widely at him. "I mean, I'll be more help if I know what you need."

"Yes, thank you for agreeing to come with me," Gilderoy patted her hair with he left hand and took out his wand with his right.

"Oh I can't believe I forgot to keep my wand at ready!" she gushed, pulling out her wand as well. "We'll have to be ready if monsters come, and I won't be any help if I'm still trying to fish my wand out of my sleeve! It's a good thing you reminded me… Professor?"

The dear girl gasped when Gilderoy levelled his wand at her head. "Is there something behind me, Professor?"

Poor, poor dear… "I'm sorry, dear," Gilderoy told her apologetically, before getting ready to cast one of the strongest memory charms he'd ever done, "but I can't have you exposing my secret. Obliviate!"

* * *

Even as the memory charm met her silent _'__protego'_, Hermione knew it was powerful. Really, the obliviation squad or even the Unspeakables could use that kind of talent. Or if he could've devoted the time he spent honing this spell elsewhere... Such a shame. But either way, it was obvious that a shield cast by a child, or even by an average adult, would not hold under such a powerful spell. It was also obvious that she could not afford to be hit by the spell. The recent several years of her life happened to be rather important.

So Hermione deflected it back to its caster, but not before concentrating it and amplifying it threefold.

When Lockhart asked her to accompany him to somewhere with an obvious lack of witnesses, she'd wondered what he was up to. Perhaps he might ask her if she knew what Blaise, Theo and Daphne were up to. Perhaps he might ask her where exactly she found the "diary". Perhaps he might extract a promise from her not to tell anyone about said "diary". Perhaps maybe there was a possibility that he might attempt foul play. But this…

She'd also considered various ways to keep people from finding out about the "diary" until she was prepared to handle the backlash. Up to now she'd been entertaining the idea of arranging for him to live in a secluded tropical town, lost to the British magical community for the next five years, and probably having his fraudulence activities partially exposed in the process. But this…

Well this simplified things.

Now, with time, a competent mind healer could probably restore most of Lockhart's memories up to a year or two beyond his graduation. With luck, a powerful leglimen might manage to glimpse bits of his memories up to last summer. But his memories of his time as a professor at Hogwarts and this confrontation, the epicenter of the rebounding memory charm, would be irreversibly scrambled. Lost forever. And she really must say, he had it coming.

It wasn't even vengeance, which would require active plotting on her part. It was simply apathy as allowed by the exemption clause in her personal rule. If he didn't give a rat's fart about destroying her life, why should she care about his?

_'I'm sorry too__, Professor,' _she watched Lockhart's shocked eyes steadily grow blank, _'__But I can't have you exposing my secret either.'_

* * *

**A.N.: Next chapter concludes year 2...**

**A part of this letters plot was inspired by GenkaiFan's story 'Poison Pen', in which 'Oliver Twist' demonstrates how the potterverse newspapers could be used to sway the public to his cause. Anyone caught the reference? :D**

**I wonder what you guys think of what Hermione did with Lockhart. I think it's the first time she actually punishes someone.**

**Guess what's up with the love song :D For best effect, can try singing it to the tune of "Payphone" by Maroon5. (The low part, I mean)**


	48. End of year 2

The next morning, the Daily Prophet published an article about how the famous author and adventurer Gilderoy Lockhart had been found in a secluded part of Diagon Alley the previous night with no idea who he was or what he was doing. The Prophet remarked that he had since been taken to St. Mungo to receive treatment for what seemed to be near complete memory loss, and theorizes that Lockhart must've suffered some unfortunate injury while protecting Hogwarts and the world from some foe they didn't even know about. It then wished the beloved hero and revolutionary good luck in regaining the memories he'd lost.

Within the Great Hall of Hogwarts, half of the student population wept for Lockhart's misfortune while the other half stayed silent. A handful of students, including Ron, didn't fit into either camps.

"Good riddance," the redhead declared loudly upon seeing the news.

"Ron stop pretending!" Lavender sniffed, "You miss him as much as we do! It's ok to cry a little!"

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?" Ron spluttered back. "Honestly, it's as if everyone suddenly started thinking I'd fall head over heels for him like one of his fan-girls! Even McGonagall and Dumbledore! _Dumbledore, _the wisest wizard alive! Can you imagine that?"

"It's probably because your hair is the reddest among the lower year boys, and I'm pretty sure some of them are just pulling your leg," Hermione repressed a snigger. "But you know, we won't judge you if you actually do... what do they say? Keep for the other team?"

"No! I hate that dolt!"

She'd noticed Theo cackling over at the Slytherin table on Valentine's Day ("I was going to wait till he'd actually understand it," he'd admitted to her when asked, "but then Lockhart announced the Valentine Day thing and it was just too good to pass up..."). She knew that Ron had adequately paid his dues by now for the scandalous comment he'd accidentally made back in first year after the dragon incident. She really did. But she simply couldn't resist ribbing him a little more.

Meanwhile, Hermione's little library study group attempted to guess at what really happened to Lockhart – which proved to be difficult due to their lack of information. All they could conclude in the end was that Lockhart severely pissed off someone he shouldn't have messed with, possibly in the middle of some less-than-glorious business.

The rest of the year passed fairly smoothly. Hermione had overheard some of her classmates discussing whether they agreed with 'Charles Spinner' or 'Olivia Dickens' more. She herself, of course, maintained diplomatically that both had equally valid points - it was only fair, after all, since she wrote both. She'd needed to monitor the papers especially carefully and pull a few strings here and there, but the time she'd freed up by "losing" Lockhart was a big relief. When it came time for course selection, Percy's advices proved to be extremely helpful. He'd mentioned that supposedly in 1980 a very keen student had been permitted to take all the electives with the aid of something called a time turner, inspiring her to do the same. After an extensive discussion on the list of electives, Harry decided to take Arithmacy with Theo, Blaise and Daphne, and Care of Magical Creatures because it sounded exciting. He also chose Divination with Ron in the end, in exchange for Ron's promise to take Care of Magical Creatures with him. (Harry and Hermione had very nearly convinced him to swap divination for arithmancy or runes too, but eventually relented when he insisted that he needed the time to do better in the important classes.)

And finally, she was saying goodbye to the portraits in her Chamber before she would depart once more for the summer.

"I'm so happy for you, Sal!" Portrait Helga beamed widely, "It was so awful, to listen to the way those people talked about you, but now they're finally learning about the truth! And your house is definitely turning around too - well the younger students at least. You've finally won, Sal."

Hermione smiled. "I can't express how relieved I am, to be honest. My house, my name, everything I've ever stood for – it's like a snapped rose branch that's been dead for so long, I was afraid it's rotten away for good. But now I think it's truly resurrected. Seems it's stronger than I thought."

"That it is, Sal. You're very hard to kill," Portrait Godric chuckled, "how tall are your roses now? I'd imagine they'd covered your castle wall in a thousand years."

"What?"

Portrait Rowena looked uncharacteristically confused. "You mean… you haven't been back to your own castle? But when you said you're going home last summer we just assumed –"

Hermione frowned. "It didn't have any muggle-repellant charms, so I couldn't expect it to stay intact after a thousand years could I? Or maybe my dear cousin's descendants inherited it and squandered it away like everything else the Slytherin family used to own. Besides, I did go there and check. It's gone. There's nothing there anymore..."

_'…Except that shadow of something in the corner of my eye?'_

"No, Sal," Portrait Salazar frowned as well, "After you drank the potion, Godric, Rowena and Helga apparently cast an impressive ward around our castle to seal it away from the world, similar to a fidelius charm, in case you do manage to return. They kept me in the dark about this the whole time until several weeks ago actually, but I thought it would've been the first thing you found when you returned to this world… Perhaps you weren't able to see it because you didn't believe it still existed."

Hermione gasped. Could it be? There was one easy way to know for sure.

She closed her eyes, picturing the tall, infallible stone castle standing proudly amidst a garden of blooming roses under the drifting white mist. Alive and whole, in all its glory. _'Resurrected, or maybe never really dead in the first place...'_

And she felt the distinctive squeeze of apparition.

* * *

**A.N. End of year 2 :D Thought I might as well post this quickly and finish tying up the loose ends.**

**Theo wrote the love song in order to frame Ron, as his promised revenge for what happened during the dragon incident at the end of first year. **

**Both 'Charles Spinner' and 'Olivia Dickens' are actually Hermione "arguing" against herself.**

**In the Harry Potter books, second year is heavily centered around Slytherin's legacy. I thought I might as well keep it that way. Hopefully I succeeded in showing that Sally is still as much a Slytherin as ever. I'm not sure if I was clear enough, but what Sally meant by "true resurrection" was the resurrection of her name and legacy. She has no intention to actually change her body back into a man.**

**Year 3 might feel a bit different than the previous 2, as Sal's biggest problem starts to catch up with her again. I always found the themes of the third book to be darker than the rest. Idk.**

**Third year coming soon...**


	49. Year 3: Atop the highest tower

...

-~sSs~-

**Year 3: Atop the highest tower**

-~sSs~-

_'__To Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Godric Gryffindor'_

_'__September XIX, CMLXXIX'_

_'__My friends,_

_Please forgive me for not sending you each a separate letter. At the moment I find myself at a shortage of owls, especially ones trained to deliver mail after a three-day delay._

_I hope fortune has been kind to you lately. Words cannot express how happy I am to receive your previous letters. Helga, I am most glad to hear of the birth of your granddaughter. I can imagine that with your beautiful eyes, she will grow to be a fine young lady indeed. Your little Alexander has a happy family of his own now, yet it feels like only yesterday that he was still chasing his brothers around the school. How time flies… Rowena, congratulations on your and Master Gamp's newest spell invention. Please, do heed my advice and remember to let yourself rest. I realize that both of you have a tendency to lose yourselves in your books, often together, and that you're perfectly happy that way, but my point still stands. You must admit that food for thought is no substitute for actual food. Godric, my eyes may have deceived me but I seem to have read that you've decided to convince your ten year old grandson to take that bundle of twigs you call a broom for a ride. Well. You know what I have to say about that, so I shall not waste my ink. Evidently the boy takes after his grandfather._

_I am as well as I can be. The King is summoning me much less frequently now that I've helped him restore the country from its battle-torn condition and appease the muggles after his invasion, so I have more time on my hand. (Call me what you will, Sir Godric, but we have already discussed this before. I will gladly help a king better his country, but it honestly makes little difference to me which muggle sits on the throne as long as my home and my people are unharmed. Besides, King William was clearly winning and I like him better than King Harold anyways. But I digress…) I've had two small explosions in my laboratory, but they were easily taken care of and all. And we've had to sanction a rogue wizard who'd been using dark arts to terrorize muggles – again, easily taken care of. But do not worry about me getting bored, my friends. I've had plenty other things to keep me busy._

_I am writing to you now because in a few hours – about two days ago from your perspective, that is – I shall be able to confirm the existence of the mythical ferryman of River Styx. The stories call him cold, fair, impartial. And he will, I think, take me across. I do wonder if he would take me back. Wouldn't that go down in history…_

_Dear Rowena, I suspect you are now furrowing your brows and asking what I am raving about. In somewhat more scientific terms, I believe I have created a reincarnation potion in accordance of what I believe I understand about souls, life, being, and intelligence. The potion acts by first atomizing one's body when it is still firmly attached to the soul, then have the soul's innate coherence aggregate it back together. Of the two steps, the probability of success for the first is 99.999% +/- 0.001%. The probability of success for the second is 50% +/- 50%._

_Owing to the nature of reincarnation, the only way to test this creation is to experience it myself. Please do not call me a hypocrite, dear Godric. I have considered and accepted the risks. I have already set my affairs in order, found my elf Tinker a new household where he'll be treated well, and tied up loose ends with the people I had unfinished business with. My only regret is not being able to preserve my ancestral home from being sullied by my successor, whoever that turns out to be. I do not think it will be a painful process. The speed at which nerves conduct pain signals to the brain is much too slow compared to the speed at which the potion disintegrates them. I will leave no more information than this regarding my creation as I do not wish for future potioneers to dedicate their lives to replicate what could be a failure. Not that it would be a complete failure, I suppose, since if anything I may have just invented a revolutionary new class of poison - which would be a monumental feat in its own right. I do believe that a poison so quick-acting that it by nature has no possible antidote has been the quest of the dastardly through the ages. Ah, I digress again._

_But whether I succeed or not… I may likely never see you again, my friends. How I miss the days when Hogwarts first opened its doors. We were running up and down the castle I recall, trying to placate parents and fend off monsters all in between teaching our small group of students. But we were so brilliant, the four of us! Dearest Rowena, you were shining when we met and you shine even brighter now. When I first saw you you were standing aloof at our parents' gatherings because as you bluntly put it, the accomplished masters refused to hold a discussion with a child and all the children our age were idiots. After I eventually convinced you that I wasn't as much an idiot as you thought, you finally deigned me worthy enough to grace me with the first of many animated conversations on spell crafting and betrothals. (Of course, you stopped complaining soon after you actually met yours as I recall. I once again reserve the right to say "I told you so".) And in the early days of the school, we used to pile the tables high with scrolls of spell options and charm schemes, then bicker over where the inkwell might be. I didn't realize it then, but those were the best years of my life. It's been my honour to call you friend, Rowena. _

_Dearest Helga, have we ever told you that we literally jumped for joy like children after you told us you would join our project to create the first ever academy of witchcraft and wizardry? Sometimes I still wonder if you'd felt like you suddenly found three younger siblings in your care, because as much as I like to pretend otherwise I must admit that's what I must've been to you – a starry-eyed little boy, always looking for trouble. My scrapes simply lasted longer than Godric's, I suppose… Thank you, for caring for me all those years. I never managed to figure out how someone's heart can be so golden that she can be so kind to everyone no matter what. You are truly extraordinary, Helga. I'm glad you have the happy life you've always wanted now. After so much hard work, you certainly deserve it._

_And dearest Godric... I know I often said I made a mistake in directing you to my village as you asked instead of letting you wander on. I usually said it after you'd nearly gotten both our heads taken off by yet another dragon/manticore/griffin. But the truth is, Godric, I'd do it a thousand times over again with no regret. You're the first friend I've ever had, Godric, and I would call you brother but even that may not do you justice. There are a thousand things I want to say but words cannot express how much you mean to me and I really can't imagine what I would've been without you. _

_Please destroy this letter once you finish reading it. I realize I must sound downright pathetic. But it's the truth, and I cannot bury it in my heart forever. You all mean more to me than any person alive, my friends._

_Goodbye._

_Yours truly,_

_Salazar Slytherin'_


	50. Year 3: Chapter 2

Hermione stepped out of the pensieve that Helga had left for her, of receiving her last letter, of showing it to an astonished Rowena and Godric, of apparating to Slytherin castle at once only to find a scorched laboratory and a very thin layer of dust surrounding a fallen flask atop some pieces of charred fabric, then finally of casting a modified version of one of the wards they'd designed together so long ago. It was meant to be cast by four people simultaneously. With three, they'd just been able to manage it. _'__They still cared enough to do this for me, after all this time…'_

The silvery memory had been in one of her flasks on the blackened workbench when she found it. She'd move it to a more secure location as soon as she could find a container worthy of it.

Indeed, apart from the slight blackening of the potion laboratory – the very last room she'd stood in before she'd departed from her first life – every bit of the castle was exactly as she remembered it once she'd removed the thick coat of dust. Protected from muggles and wizards alike by her friends' spells, and age by the original layers of charms cast by generations of Lords and Ladies Slytherin, there was not a single crack more in the cool grey stone walls or the polished dark wood panelling. The library was quite empty at the moment, as most of its books had been moved to Gringott as part of Salazar's final preparations. (He may have deemed it his duty to leave the Slytherin family vault with a decent amount of gold, but he certainly wasn't going to leave Merope and her equally snobbish son with priceless treasures they didn't value.) The lord's private study was likewise devoid of the usual half-finished drafts and notebooks that filled it, but the documents for the long-gone village neatly filed away in the "public" study used for greeting muggles were untouched.

The thin circle of evergreen trees that surrounded the perimeter of the castle grounds were still there, though since the ward functioned by contorting space they would appear as a small cluster to someone outside. The ivy that clung to the castle walls had managed to cover the first storey entirely, including much of the windows and doors, so that light took on a pale green tint as it filtered through the thick foliage into the darkened rooms. Respecting the work of nature, she'd decided to leave them where they were for now. It wasn't as if she would need to leave or enter the castle by any means other than apparition anytime in the foreseeable future.

And the rose garden... She'd been so sure that it had died with age under rubbles and weeds and harsh weather, but no, her roses thrived! Only, the once precisely manicured French garden had grown into something far more organic. The pebbles that separated the parterres had been completely overgrown and buried, so that the two marble pavilions seemed to stand among a sea of flowers. The boundary between the roses and the grass that surrounded them - which had grown very tall in the absence of interference - had become so diffuse that they bled into each other, each seeking to invade the other's territory but neither quite managing to gain ground.

Looking out from the windows of the back-facing gallery, Hermione found it quite awe-inspiring. And by the stars, even the soft clicking of her footsteps in the silence of the long stone corridor was as she remembered all her life. She'd thought it all gone. Dead. Destroyed. Yet, it was here. In a ruffled and less organized form, perhaps, but nevertheless here. _Waiting._

Pale orbs of light relit one by one in the lamps that lined the halls as she passed, and green flames sprung into life in the fireplaces. The ancient serpent gargoyles that guarded the castle's various rooms hissed in greeting, awakened once more by her magic. Then they coiled, ready and attentive for their next order.

It was a very thoughtful Hermione that apparated back to Hogwarts just in time to board the Express.

So her legacy had finally risen from the ashes, she mused as she watched Harry and Blaise play chess against each other while being advised by Ron and Theo respectively. Next step?

Now that she'd capitalized on the opportunity presented by one lilac-wearing dolt last year, her priority was once again her troublesome "heir". This not only meant finishing up with the horcrux so that she could actually kill him later, but also learning as much about him as possible so that she could better undo the damage he'd done. Better yet, remove everything he might've used to rally his supporters, or some upstart could easily pick up where he'd left off.

Among these was the tension between the traditionalists, led by purebloods, and the muggleborns and the "progressive" half-bloods. Which by itself was a very difficult situation to resolve.

On a different front, it would be a good idea to start expanding her funds. The gold in her vault was only meant to be a seed fund - enough to modestly live off of for a very long time, but hardly enough to play the games she'd wanted to play. It was another aspect of strengthening herself, she supposed.

There was plenty to do, in short.

Meeting her parents at the train station marked the beginning of a summer spent dutifully corresponding with all of her classmates she'd promised to write to, though some more than others. She'd congratulated Ron on his family's lottery winning, and complimented Harry on his decision to voluntarily offer to lock up all his magical school supplies apart from his books and the unsuspicious locket wand-holster. (Apparently Petunia now liked him enough to finally tell Dudley off on his behalf for once, to the complete bafflement of his cousin.) She'd encouraged Neville to continue his Nocturne practice, and expressed her congratulations that he could now follow along the tune for the Weird Sisters song on the radio. She'd heard about the old families' summer parties from Blaise, who was still fairly new to those occasions, as well as Theo and Daphne, who sounded rather bored until the article about the escape of one Sirius Black appeared.

_That _had been the subject of many speculations, since at the time of his arrest the Ven. Mr. Black was the last person one would suspect of being a Death Eater. Hence, the fact that he'd been arrested for first betraying his best friend's family then blasting his other best friend to smithereens along with a street full of muggles had been shocking to even their parents – more shocking, in fact, than that he'd now broken out of the supposedly inescapable magical prison Azkaban. According to Daphne, the prevalent believe among the younger attendees was that either Black secretly studied dark magic and turned coat because he was discovered, or that Black had actually died sometime during the war and the entire thing was a smear campaign. According to Theo, the adults among their circle of acquaintances did not believe Black had been a Death Eater for very long if he ever was, and had discussed whether Black had a friend in the ministry, or whether Azkaban was not as secure as they'd originally believed. According to Blaise, Minister Fudge said Black was often heard muttering "he's at Hogwarts" in the days leading up to his escape, and they were all very concerned for Harry's health now.

Hermione took the fact that they hadn't all clamped up to mean that they hadn't considered the notion that Voldemort might be responsible for this. Not that the theory really added up. Even if Black had cleverly pulled the wool over the eyes of everyone save Voldemort himself since his school days, there was no reason for Voldemort to trust him any more than another Death Eater.

No, it was more likely that Black did it himself. In which case he was more likely to go after Harry, since Voldemort would've followed the same strategy she herself was employing – lay low until he could gain enough strength. But there was another mystery. Why should Black feel the need to avenge Voldemort when someone in his position would've almost certainly only turned traitor for profit? Unless, once again, he'd been worshipping Voldemort for a long time and had managed to pulled the wool over everyone's eyes? Clearly there was something she was missing in her interpretation.

But the rest of the magical population proved to be even more clueless regarding Black's motives and actions. This was demonstrated by yet one more of Hermione's summer correspondence when she'd apparated to meet him in Diagon Alley.

"Bad time for shop owners," the elderly Mr. Miller warned her in a wheezing voice as he handed over the key to what used to be his, but was now hers, little establishment. "Death Eater on the loose and all."

"Oh don't be silly! Sirius Black won't bother with us common shopkeepers," Hermione remarked in the cheerful, chirping tone of her newly-dubbed Regular Disguise #1: Sandra Homer, a short, plumb baby-faced witch who wore her brown hair in a messy bun.

"O-oh you never know," Mr. Miller shuddered, "besides, someone who's been in Azkaban for 10 years probably can't be very sound in the head… Anyways, he's your problem now lady. I'll be enjoying my retirement somewhere in Italy."

"You do that, dear!" 'Sandra Homer' called after him, before turning around to examine her acquisition.

With the expenditure of 800 galleons, she was now the proud owner of a tiny empty storefront. It was about the size of a very small bedroom, but grew into something more adequate with a space extension charm. Looking around to inspect her handiwork, Hermione mentally plotted out the floor plan.

She'd given quite a bit of consideration to the selection of her first source of income. She didn't yet have the capital to make money from investing in others' businesses, so she'd have to start her own. Offering a service was out of question due to the time commitment, so it would have to be a shop. A shop for something people would be willing to pay galleons for, as well, if she wanted a significant profit. She'd passed over the idea of an apothecary, as it would involve licensing and filing for patents and the like – things better done when she could use her real name. Of course, the customers of Knockturn Alley wouldn't give a damn about licensing. In fact, she could probably make quite a fortune there rather quickly with her knowledge. But she wasn't about to disregard her principles to prostitute her magic for some gold. That was Marvolo's specialty.

The business plan she'd settled on in the end actually took advantage of the new amendment for the Muggle Protection Act, Hermione noted. Emptying the pile of wood and scrap metal she'd salvaged from a muggle junk-yard into the middle of the room, she began the lengthy process of permanently transfiguring her furniture – elegantly curved racks, polished dark wood shelves and counter, and thin wood screens to partition the space. The single window was far from enough to illuminate the enlarged space, so black iron "torches" were installed along the walls, each holding a floating orb of soft, cream-coloured light. The only completed pieces of furniture she'd brought with her – a short low black leather sofa and matching leather stools – were set down.

And finally, the sign board. A slab of dark wood, with engraved, faintly-glowing letters:

_The Silver Spindle_

_Magically enhanced apparel and tailoring_

Yes, she, Hermione Salazar Granger Slytherin, was opening a boutique. How Godric would laugh if he could see her now…

But it was the obvious choice, really. After all, it was generally agreed that clothes were one of the things one could never have too much of, and the variety could be even greater if charms were added to the equation. On one hand, she could have twinkling ball gowns, perfectly flaring robes (thank you Severus), and other special effects for beauty or simply dramatic entrances. On the other hand, she could have self-cleaning shirts, robes with space-extended pockets, and temperature-regulating cloaks. And, of course, ladies' underwear that feels perfectly normal except with a very fast-acting fluid vanishing function for that time of the month. She hadn't found any other products like this so she wasn't sure what spells all the other witches were using these days - which might've been the reason why she'd ended up spending hours developing her own charm scheme in the girl's bathroom… But she had a feeling her efforts would pay off now. Ahem.

And finally, as an add-on to entice the cautious or the paranoid or those whose job required it, she could offer warding – it would have to be a fairly expensive add on, mind, since proper warding took time. It was one thing to cast a shield charm on a cloak, but another to anchor it so that it could last for years and weather a minor battle. After the catastrophe witnessed during the magical wars, it would be good if her shop could leave the public better protected. She could not offer them dark wards, but she could give them the strongest shield that could be managed by light magic.

But the best part about the idea was, 'Sandra Homer' inspected her finished work with satisfaction, it could be a spark of inspiration for the progress that the magical world seemed to be lacking.

It was about time people realized just what one could do with a bit of creativity and magic.

* * *

**A.N.: Thanks again for the reviews. I really wonder if the previous chapter had the right emotional effect. I'm not really good at this, so tips would be very welcomed :D**

**The Silver Spindle was actually named after Sleeping Beauty, because that's what the description of Slytherin Castle ended up reminding me of, haha... **

**My headcanon is that medieval wizards were much more mobile than medieval muggles. Thus, it would be reasonable for wizards across the world to share ideas before their muggle counterparts. ****Also, inflation rate is much lower in the magical world than the muggle world since the price of gold is fairly stable. So Merope's 50 galleon dress would cost as much today as it did 1000 years ago, and the money in Salazar's vault would still be worth quite a bit today even if he didn't allow the goblins to invest it.**

**Hopefully that placates some of the history buffs out there **


	51. Year 3: Chapter 3

By the end of the summer, Hermione was fairly pleased with her progress. Her hiring advertisement in the Prophet had been answered by five people, three of whom she'd decided to employ. Among them, Mary and Timothy were both experienced tailors who knew how to fit clothes and sew quickly with the help of charms. Meanwhile, Alice was a young graduate and hobby fashion designer, whose work had a certain flair that Hermione liked.

Currently Hermione was paying them a set salary to do the physical fitting and designing of the clothes, while leaving the magical component of the work for herself. When the shop grows big enough, she would teach them the charm schemes and offer to sell them each up to 20% of the shares in the business. Then she could hand off the daily running of the shop entirely.

And after three more weeks of preparations to build up a small stock of merchandise, The Silver Spindle finally opened to the curiosity of shoppers and Diagon Alley residents alike. Drawn in by the unusualness of the concept, people had purchased her self-cleaning and temperature regulating staple garments out of curiosity, and were enthusiastically informed of the other offered services by Mary. According to the kindly tailor, muggleborns seemed to be especially fascinated with the magically enhanced dresses, like the floor-length gown of white gauze with the subtly floating hem. Many customers were baffled, and perhaps a little outraged, when told that unlike at Madame Malkins, their tailor-made purchases would not be ready until the next day. But Hermione unfortunately had to insist on this rule, especially since she could no longer simply disapparate from her room while her parents were at work now that Harry was once again staying over to avoid his aunt Marge. The customers could choose to have their finished robes delivered to them by owl if they wished, though.

And by September, Hermione received her letter from Hogwarts as well as what she'd really been waiting for the whole summer.

The promise of a time turner.

Along with a list of instructions and warnings, and a note from McGonagall reminding her of the rarity of these devices and the trust that the school and the ministry was giving her. Finally, a note urging her to use it no more than required to attend her classes and complete her homework.

Hermione had immediately replied back, thanking them and promising to use the time turner safely and responsibly. Of course, the definition of "responsible" was a matter of perspectives. Really, one of the greatest limits on her plans last year was time. Now, she was beyond glad to be relieved of that problem.

Finally, it was once again time to board the Express. Meeting the Weasleys on the platform, Harry and Ron settled into a compartment that was empty save for a sleeping man they'd never met before. Meanwhile, Hermione spent much of the trip traversing the train as before, spending some time with each of her friend and playing a few games of cards in the third year Slytherins' compartment where Blaise, Theo and Daphne were sitting. By the time she'd been released from Fred and George's compartment (The twins had been brainstorming what best to do to Filch after the start-of-the-year feast. Hermione had suggested discreetly charming his shoes to squeak like mice for Mrs. Norris's benefit, but they'd thought it too subtle to be worth the risk.), it was already well into the afternoon.

Harry and Ron's compartment was littered with candy wrappers when she returned. "Well you took your time," Ron said through a mouthful of pumpkin pastry.

Hermione pushed some wrappers out of the way to make room for herself, and nodded toward the fourth occupant of the compartment. "Do you know who he is yet?"

"His luggage says 'Professor R.J. Lupin'," Ron told her, "but he hasn't woken up at all since we got here."

"I thought professors didn't take the train?" Harry wondered.

Suddenly, the train screeched to a halt and the compartment was plunged into total darkness as all the lamps went out. The temperature began to drop.

"Salazar..." Ron whipped out his wand, casting lumos. "Why are we stopping? And why's it suddenly winter?"

"No idea," Harry muttered, nervously pointing his wand at the door, "We can't possibly be there yet."

Hermione followed suit, her breath frosting the windows as she attempted to see what was happening outside. Then, a black, hooded figure appeared, and suddenly she was no longer seeing frost but fire. Fire and piles of twigs under wooden crosses and hundreds of torches held by people so much taller than her. A sneering face, connected to an arm roughly holding her by the neck of her cloak, dangling her helplessly in the air like a doll. The very image of absolute, horrendous vulnerability. Somewhere, someone screamed.

Hermione forced herself to focus on the present and narrowed her eyes. They were being attacked by dementors, of all beings?! Even in the entirety of her past life she'd only met them on three occasions, with no more than one dementor at a time. But even through the compartment door she could see at least four in the corridor. How was this possible?

At the moment, Ron had shrunk into a corner and Harry seemed to have fainted. Hermione took a second to remember her pride and joy upon seeing the final spell to seal the wards of Hogwarts Castle settle into place from the tips of four wands, and cast: "Expecto patronum!"

The familiar silver form of a young basilisk sprung forth and struck at the dementor, forcing it back. They seemed willing enough to move away after that, but it gave her no comfort. What if they move on to target other compartments? How many more of them were there? She could not defend the entire train!

"They won't hurt you," Hermione found a calloused hand on her shoulder, "They're Azkaban guards. They've been ordered here to search for Sirius Black and to harm no one else." The hoarse voice of the new professor said.

"They're under the ministry's _control_?" Hermione repeated dumbly. She was simultaneously relieved that she was not about to have her soul sucked out, as well as more than a little wary. The ministry was so sure of its power over these creatures that it felt safe sending them to a train full of children?

Professor Lupin looked tired despite the long nap. He, too, had his wand out, Hermione noticed, despite him saying that there was no danger. But then again, these _were_ dementors after all. "That was an impressive patronus, especially for a … third year?" he smiled kindly at her, "And was it corporeal too? Even most OWL students have trouble with it!"

"Yeah S-Sally what in Merlin's name did you do to them?" Spluttered Ron.

Well shite. Then there was that.

"Patronus charm defends against dementors. I, er, read about it in a book," Hermione smiled sheepishly. She didn't think many people would immediately recognize a basilisk for what it was, but if words get out that "Sally could cast a patronus that looked like an abnormally giant serpentine something that she refused to disclose", there could still be big trouble. Especially since it was known that a patronus would never take on a form that the caster was not familiar with.

Professor Lupin seemed as if he wanted to say more, but was distracted when Harry stirred. Hermione quickly took the opportunity to cleave away exactly thirty seconds of both Lupin and Ron's memories, before joining the small huddle around where Harry had fallen. Professor Lupin gave Harry some chocolate and went to speak with the conductor, while Neville and Ginny stumbled into the compartment.

"It was horrible!" Ginny sobbed, "I was just looking for Ron, and those - those _things _came through the corridor! And when they floated past me –"

"It was so cold!" Neville shivered.

"I felt weird," Ron shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, "like I'd never feel cheerful again…"

"But didn't any of you … fall off your seats?" Asked Harry.

"No," Hermione told him, "But I've read that dementors affect you worse the more terrifying experiences you have. I'm sorry, Harry, but you were the one who had to meet You-know-who and all…"

"What happened in your compartment?" Asked Neville, "I thought I saw a bright light after the dementor went in, and then it came out again."

"Light? I cast a lumos, but I'm pretty sure it didn't do anything to it," Ron scratched his head.

"I really don't like those things," Hermione muttered. Anything that mutilated a soul was, in her opinion, a fate perhaps even worse than death. Leaching away all happy thoughts was not a good prospect either. And here was a _collective_ of dementors, whose nature was to do both… She shuddered. She'd never felt more compelled to find a way to rid the world of those monstrosities for ever. But one thing at a time.

But they really did think Sirius Black was going to come to Hogwarts for Harry, didn't they? Even at the train station, Mr. Weasley made Harry promise not to go looking for Black. Harry had been understandably incensed when he found out from their Slytherin friends that Black was supposed to be friends with his parents, but he eventually agreed that he should wait until he would actually be a match for Black before he tries to take revenge. Harry and Blaise had then each proposed in their letters that the five of them should practice duelling together sometime in addition to their study sessions, which Hermione whole-heartedly supported. She just hoped Black wouldn't attack Harry before then, for whatever reason.

They didn't talk much during the remainder of the trip, or in the thestral-drawn carriages that took them to the castle. A number of people seemed to have heard about what happened to Harry on the train, and shot him concerned glances to his embarrassment. At the Great Hall, Harry and Hermione were pulled from the progression by Professor McGonagall. Harry was promptly sent to see Madam Pomfrey, leaving Hermione alone with the Deputy Headmistress. Already jumpy due to the dementor incident, Hermione wondered if she was going to be questioned until McGonagall told her that she merely wanted to talk to her about her new schedule and give her the time turner.

Really, the day was turning out to be quite a bit more eventful than she'd expected.

She and Harry missed the sorting ceremony, but they did catch Dumbledore's announcement that Professor Lupin would be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and Hagrid – no, _Professor _Hagrid now – would be replacing Kettleburn for the Care of Magical Creatures class. Then there was the much more unpleasant announcement that the Dementors would be patrolling both the castle and Hogsmead this year, and that they would have no mercy on anyone who left school grounds without permission.

Hermione firmly disregarded this, as after dinner she immediately went down to her Chamber and disapparated to Diagon Alley. Her shop was less busy now that the autumn shopping season was officially over, but by the time 'Sandra Homer' was finished with the day's batch of robes to be charmed it was already around midnight. That was when Hermione disregarded McGonagall's instructions as well and turned her shiny new time turner back by three hours. It was about time she really got to work on the _thing _that really should've been taken care of sooner.

Going back into the antechamber, she retrieved the little black book from the chest where it was imprisoned and began to write.

_'__Dear Diary, today was positively dreadful…'_


	52. Year 3: Chapter 4

_'__Dear Diary,' _Hermione wrote. Simultaneously, another quill was copying her words onto a blank notebook on its own.

_'__Today was positively dreadful. They insisted that there wasn't enough room in their compartment, so I had to sit all by myself for the whole train ride. Why couldn't Amy just move over a little bit? I just wanted someone to talk to! It's even worse than last year. At least last year they let me sit with them, even if they didn't talk to me much. And I thought I could make more friends in a new school. I'm not a bad person to be around, right? I mean, I would help people with homework and everything and I'm earning more house points than anyone else in class and I never lose any for breaking rules and - '_

Hermione smirked as her words began to disappear, to be replaced by neat black letters. **_'_****_Hello, my name is Tom. May I ask who you are and how you came by me?'_**

Perfectly polite, but clearly irritated that she was not Ginny by the way he'd cut her off. Interesting. _'__My name is Sally, and I found you last year behind a U-bend in the girl's bathroom. I thought someone would come back for you but you were still there after a week so I just took you. I'm so sorry, do you belong to someone?' _See what he'd say to that.

**_'_****_I belong to a girl named Ginny Weasley,'_** 'Tom' replied. Evidently he did not appreciate the work he'd done on the younger girl going to waste. Attached to old investments, eh? **'****_Could you return me to her, Sally?'_**

Not a chance. _'__But I don't know anybody called Ginny Weasley, Tom.'_

**_'_****_She's in Gryffindor, and she was a first year when she last wrote to me.' _**

So insistent? That was definitely a trait to remember. _'__I guess I can give you to Professor McGonagall, then. She's the Head of Gryffindor, so she would know.' _Hermione replied, and waited for him to consider. She knew it would be a risk for Tom to let the diary pass into McGonagall's hands, because she knew him from school and would recognize his name. On the other hand, here was another exploitable child in need of a confidant…

Predictably, the reply came: **_'_****_Don't bother, Sally. I guess Ginny wouldn't miss me very much if she left me in a toilet and forgot about me. And here I thought I was her friend…'_**

Hermione could almost feel the charm that coerced trust and attachment turning up to max. It was too bad for Tom that she already knew what the diary was. _'__We can be friends! I mean, if you want, that is…'_

Hook, line, and sinker.

**_'_****_I would love to have someone to talk to, Sally. I'm sorry to hear about your day.'_**

_'__Oh, I'm so sorry about that rant! I was just so lonely and annoyed with the other girls. They would only talk to me if they need help on their essays, and that's only if they're really desperate. Oh, Tom, I just remembered! I've seen your name before, on the list of prefects and head boys. You were an actual person, right?'_

**_'_****_I was a student here too, Sally. I preserved my memory in my diary so that it could write back to me when I needed company.'_**

_'__Aw, Tom… Were you lonely when you first got here too?'_ Make him do the talking.

**_'_****_Yes. When I was sorted, everyone looked down on me because I was a muggle-raised orphan with no money and second-hand clothes. I knew they thought I was not worth their attention, even if I'm always the first person to master new spells and I always have the highest grade in the class. I showed them how wrong they were, though.' _**

He needed to feel that he was superior, Hermione realized. No surprise there.

**_'_****_I think we're very much alike, Sally.'_** Tom then added. Interestingly, the horcrux within the diary "shuddered" minutely, as if it could hardly bring itself to write such a disgusting statement.

Hermione didn't know which of them were more disgusted by that statement. Judging by the fact that she was addressed almost as an afterthought, though, what he said about his school experience was probably genuine to a great degree.

_'__Thanks, Tom. Do you think I can prove them wrong too? Show them that I'm worth being friends with?'_

**_'_****_I think if they don't want you as a friend then it's their loss.' _**

This statement was, of course, loaded with the suggestion that she should not try to grow too attached to anyone else. More precisely, anyone but him. It seemed he could be quite subtle as well if he made an effort.

_'__You're so nice, Tom… It's just… It just really hurts that they don't like me. Maybe they just don't understand me…' _Hermione decided on this. Hopefully by continuing to show him that empathy was an effective way of getting through to her, he would be more likely to talk about himself. Which shouldn't be too difficult. Evidently he'd want her to pour her heart and soul into his diary, but from what she'd seen so far Tom seemed to love being listened to.

Besides, it was generally very difficult to tell an elaborate lie without any semblance of truth. So if one knew what to look for...

_'__Oh, it's late. I think I'll go to sleep now. Goodnight, Tom. I'll talk to you tomorrow.'_

**_'_****_Goodnight, Sally.'_**

* * *

The next day saw the start of classes, including the new subjects. Her time turner was proving to be very helpful indeed. Currently, her schedule involved attending her classes as usual, then going back by an hour after every conflicted class. Then complete her homework and socialize in either the common room or the library until bedtime, then shut her bedcurtains and turn the time back to around dinner. Next, apparate from her Chamber to Diagon Alley, returning to school at around ten. Finally, write to teenage Voldemort for about an hour and work on either her nocturne, target practice or duelling footworks until she was ready to actually go to sleep.

The little golden gadget truly was a treasure. Twice she'd contemplated taking it apart to study and hopefully recreate it, but she decided against it as she wasn't confident that she would be able to put it back together. Maybe later, then. Just before she was supposed to give it back. She had plenty of time now, after all.

As for the classes themselves, Arithmancy and Runes were both very well-taught, she found. Muggle studies was rather superficial, but she still had to applaud Professor Burbage as at least it was accurate and mostly unbiased. In Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid's reception was a bit cold due to the textbook's relentless effort to chomp the student's arms off – that is, until Hagrid informed them that they had to stroke the spine, _obviously_. Then Draco got into a bit of trouble with the hippogriff they were supposed to be riding, but had enough sense to back off before the beast could become angry enough to slash him or worse. Her expectations for Divination was admittedly low, though after the first class it seemed to be justified. Professor Trelawney liked to punctuate her sentences with "predictions" that were either commonly established opinions (Harry had an enemy), or so vague that it could be fulfilled by anything ("The thing you're dreading will happen on the sixteenth"), or self-fulfilling ("Neville, you're going to break your teacup"). Then she'd frightened the class by insisting that Harry's tealeafs looked like the omen of death. Not wanting trouble, Hermione sat back into her chair and said nothing until they were out of the stuffy tower, although Lavender and Parvati apparently worshipped the misty-eyed Seer.

Then, finally, it was time for the first Defence Against the Dark Arts class of the year. This was the most highly anticipated class of all - in part because thanks to the previous two professors, it was nigh impossible for anyone to form an expectation of any kind.

"Where d'you think we're going?" Neville asked as they followed their new professor through the halls.

"I dunno, but it seems like it's going to be a practical lesson again," Harry shrugged.

"Hope it's nothing that pixie disaster like last year," Ron sniggered, "honestly, he –"

"Inside, please," Professor Lupin ushered the chattering third year Gryffindors into the staffroom, nodding courteously to Professor Snape who was just leaving. It was evident that Snape strongly disliked him, although he'd worked to keep this mostly veiled. Hermione watched him sweep out of the room curiously, because there seemed to be some history here, but he gave her no other hints. Meanwhile, her classmates gathered around the mahogany table and waited excitedly to find out why they were here.

"Now then," Lupin beckoned everyone to the old wardrobe at the end of the room, which gave a loud bang. Hermione had a fairly good guess of what it was then. They would be learning to defeat a boggart.

A cacophony of whispering broke out once Professor Lupin announced the lesson to the class. Her classmates, already running high on adrenalin, were in various states of excitement, trepidation, or mild panic. Parvati was bouncing on her toes, while Ron looked a little green and kept muttering "take its legs off". Neville's face was hard with determination, while Harry seemed quite confused.

Hermione had dealt with boggarts before, having on occasions needed to clean them out of Hogwart's various nooks and crannies, but she unfortunately had a different problem. Boggarts took the form of one's worst fear, which was why Lupin would almost certainly ask all of them to confront the boggart together. However, the last time she'd seen a boggart it had turned into a torch-wielding medieval muggle – a lingering effect, she supposed, from that time she'd came within an inch from burning at the stakes when she was still a very young child, when she was still vulnerable...

It would be fairly difficult to explain in modern society.

Hermione slowly allowed her classmates to shuffle in front of her until she was at the back of the group. Preferably she would avoid the Boggart altogether. If it saw her, however, she'd have to silently cast the spell to force it to take on a different shape immediately. Fail that, and she may have to obliviate people again. That would be twice in the same week.

It seemed that new Defence Against the Dark Arts professors never fail to stir up trouble, Hermione noted with an amused sigh, before starting to prepare her defence. Perhaps she would change him into one of those deranged axe-wielding madmen from the movies. And maybe then change the axe into an ice cream cone or something.

"Everyone ready? On the count of one – two – three - " Professor Lupin called. Hermione nodded like everyone else and readied her wand. Torch to axe, and quickly. Right.

On three, Lupin magically opened the wardrobe door, and a mummy tumbled out to land in front of Parvati.

"Riddikulus!" The mummy's bandage unravelled and its head fell off. Lupin then called Seamus over, and the mummy turned into a shrieking banshee.

"Riddikulus!" The banshee suddenly lost its voice and began to make comical choking motions.

Crack! The banshee turned into a rat, then – crack! - a rattlesnake, then – crack! – a single bloody eyeball. It turned into a bloody hand that began to crawl like a crab upon seeing Dean, then a loud, disappointed-sounding howler for Neville, then a monstrously large spider for Ron. "Riddikulus!" The redhead bellowed, and the spider lost its legs. It rolled over and over, toward Lavender who squealed and ran out of the way, until it finally stopped in front of Hermione.

Having carefully watched the boggart roll, Hermione was waiting for it. _'__Riddikulu – '_

But the boggart did not turn into anything remotely human. Instead, she found herself staring into a large, ornate mirror.

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

_I show not your face but your heart's desire._

The Mirror of Erised. The very same one she'd came across in her first year.

It was better if she didn't look, she'd decided then. It was harder to mourn what you'd never seen, she'd decided then. But here she stood before it now, held in place by equal parts surprise, confusion and curiosity.

Indeed, the ancient-looking mirror did not show a reflection. Instead, it showed a very familiar tall, black-haired figure in dark green robes, with flashing silver eyes and a faint but definitely genuine smile on his lips. Beside him was an indescript someone – a lady, maybe? - whose every feature would seem to change or blur as soon as Hermione tried to focus on it. But the second figure was wearing a similar expression as the wizard, she was somehow very sure of that… And there was a small child as well, whose poise and flashing eyes were just like his father's. It was such a simple, unremarkable image. Far too unremarkable to be displayed in such a powerful artefact, one would think. One could almost call it the perfect generic family portrait, yet… There was just something about it. Something that made her heart beat just a little faster.

The silver-eyed figure in the mirror gave her a long, knowing look, and slid his arm through his companion's.

_'__Mother? Father?' _Hermione was confused. She looked to the man, since of the three figures he was the only one she could see clearly. But then, upon closer inspection, she quickly realized that it was not her father Lord Solomon Slytherin but rather...

Startled, she all but scrambled back.

Why…?

_'__Why are you showing me this?!'_

She barely even noticed that Professor Lupin was coming her way until the Mirror of Erised turned into a silvery-white orb hanging in the air. "Would you like to try again?" He asked her gently.

Hermione nodded, more stiffly than she would've liked, and forcibly turned the boggart into a pile of dust before someone else finished it off.

At the end of class, Lupin awarded everyone five points, as well as five points to Harry who did not get the chance to try the spell but answered a question at the start of the lesson. Harry looked unhappy about something as they left the staffroom, but he wasn't forthcoming and she wasn't in the mood to ask again. The rest of the class, however, was chattering excitedly about how they'd defeated their various monsters.

"Did you see me take that banshee?" Shouted Seamus.

"And the hand!"

"And my spider! It was so scary!"

"I wonder why Professor Lupin's afraid of a crystal ball,"

"Are you okay, Sally?" Neville asked, "You look a bit, well… off."

Hermione carefully schooled her features into something more cheerful and replied that she was fine, just annoyed that she didn't beat the boggart on the first try like everyone else.

"How come it turned into a mirror for you though?" Asked Ron, clearly trying to work out how such a placid-looking object could be scary.

"Hey!" Lavender defended her, "A girl can care about how she looks! Don't worry Sally, you look fine. It's not real. It's just trying to scare you."

"Yeah, Ron. You wouldn't understand." Or anyone else for that matter, Hermione thought wryly. Even she couldn't comprehend what she was seeing, nor did she wish to really.

Some of the boys sniggered good-naturedly. "Sorry Sally," chuckled Ron, "I'm just surprised. I thought yours would be a piece of homework that only got nine out of ten!"

Hermione was thankful that Ron and Harry only saw her boggart from the side, or they would've recognized it. Another close call… She really had to be more careful. But then again, how was she to know?

Clearing her mind, Hermione gathered her laden and undetectably extended book bag, and left for the next destination in her time-turned schedule. She had work to do. Filling her head with worries wouldn't help her any. Besides, what Lavender said had merit. The boggart was a mere imitation of the real Mirror of Erised. It didn't have to show the truth. It probably _wouldn't_ have shown the truth, since it would instead show her exactly what she didn't want to see... right?

Sod it all. It wasn't healthy to think too much on a boggart, anyways.

* * *

**A.N.: Tell me how I did with the boggart part plz! Should I make it longer? More descriptive? I wonder if I'm conveying Sal's reaction well enough... She ****knows exactly what the form of the boggart meant, but she's sort of in denial and she doesn't want to acknowledge it. **


	53. Year 3: Chapter 5

_'__Dear Tom, today was okay. It was a bit windy outside, but it's not too cold to go out without getting all bundled up yet. I like to read by the lake. It's really peaceful there. The way the long ripples move in the water is very calming. It's so rhythmic, so steady. And the way the light dances through the water too… On good days it makes the lake glow like emerald.'_

**_'_****_I liked the lake too. The water moves in such a smooth, measured way. It cannot be broken or crushed. Inspiring, really.'_**

Hermione smiled, knowing that she'd likely managed to evoke memories of the Slytherin common room. It was good to know that she could somewhat influence him to give genuine responses. And now to reward him for his efforts at empathy, and capitalize…

_'__I know, right? I didn't think anyone else would like to watch the water like I do. Sometimes people look at me like I'm weird when I stay there for too long. With the girls in my year, you have to do everything just like them to fit in. Like the same things, act the same way and all.'_

**_'_****_I never did fit in either, Sally. I was always different, somehow.'_**

_'__Aww Tom… You poor thing…' _Hermione wrote, deliberately laying it on thick,_ '__I'm so sorry to hear that!'_

**_'_****_But I made sure that they saw me the right way, eventually. I demonstrated my strength and made sure that they respected me like they should.' _**Tom seemed very quick to assert that he was not a "poor thing", despite the advantage it would give him to have her sympathy. He detested feeling vulnerable, then? Maybe they truly were kindred souls in that regard… Or perhaps he was a megalomaniac who wanted everyone to acknowledge him as a god among men? **_'_****_So don't worry about people too much, Sally. Besides, we can look out for each other.'_** His writing, Hermione had noticed by now, was slightly less orderly when he seemed to be truly passionate about something, compared to his perfectly even and upright script when he was flat out lying. Another thing to remember, then.

_'__Thanks, Tom. You're the best!'_

**_'_****_But of course. What are friends for?' _**

_'__But Tom, I wish someone could've been there for you too. I have you now, but you didn't have anyone who really understood you then…'_

Confusion. Apparently Tom had never been asked such a question before, and was so stumped as to what the appropriate response was that he didn't answer for almost half a minute.

**_'_****_It's quite alright. I accepted that I was different a long time ago.' _**He eventually decided on this.

And completely misunderstood the "concern"?

Very interesting, as she'd thought this feeling would resonate with someone like him most of all. Did he really not see anything wrong with –

But with what, exactly? Now that she tried to write it down, she found that she couldn't exactly articulate it either. _'It's not that, it's ...'_

If one deemed oneself special, perhaps more capable or more ambitious than most, then it would only be logical to expect that others would not think the same way as oneself right?

_'…__nevermind. I'm just glad I have you now, I mean.'_

A shame, that she couldn't probe him further on that front. But at least she was now fairly certain that Voldemort had no real trusty accomplices that she'd need to root out from somewhere within the shadows – even though many would _seem_ to be a member of his inner circle. When it came to what was important, he would always rely on no one. No one would know enough about his plans to cripple him significantly through betrayal, or conversely, help him to a great extent when he'd need it.

Voldemort probably didn't think that day would ever come. Hermione suspected he would be in for a surprise sooner than he believed.

_'__I think I'll turn in for the night. Astronomy class was so long! Goodnight, Tom.'_

**_'_****_Sweet dreams, Sally.'_**

* * *

"Sal, why are we meeting in the middle of the hallway?" asked Blaise, "I thought you're taking us to our new lair." He was genuinely confused. There wasn't anything here, was there?

"Well I wouldn't use the word _lair_," Sal said airily, pacing in front of the tapestry, "Think of it as a hidden meeting room. I stumbled upon it sometime ago. There,"

There. Blaise's jaw almost dropped as a little door appeared out of nowhere. He quickly closed his mouth, but was surprised again upon following his friends into what appeared to be whole classroom he didn't know about. It was completely empty save for a chandelier floating just below its tall ceiling.

"I think this room can gives you almost anything you wish for," Sal informed them, "To get in you have to pace in front of that wall three times while wishing for some kind of place, like a place where we can practice duelling. And now if we wish for table and seats…"

Blaise tried, and was amazed when a low table surrounded by five poufs actually appeared before them.

"We can also wish for books. We have to know what topic we're looking for, mind, so it doesn't necessarily replace the library."

"And if we wish for the door to be locked?" Theo grinned.

"Then no one should be able to get in, though I'm not sure what would happen if someone use alohomora."

Blaise didn't think it mattered much, since he'd bet that no one in the school even knew this place existed. A room like this, you really did kind of have to stumble across it to find it. Still, it was good to know.

But hang on… a room that gives you practically anything you want! "Wicked!"

"I knew you'd like it," Sal smiled. Once again, her eyes seemed to gleam fleetingly as it did on occasions. It was a sight that Blaise was becoming more accustomed to.

The Saturday was the most fun afternoon since summer, Blaise decided. The Duelling Club hosted by Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick only met three more times after the first one with Lockhart, but it only took them a little while to agree on what they'd learned was the right form again. Then they got quite a workout taking turns duelling each other with only _'__expelliarmus' _like the first time Professor Flitwick taught them to, because Theo pointed out that if they ever meet Sirius Black they would probably want to dodge his spells instead of trying to block. Then they practiced casting the shield charm, because Harry argued that in case they _couldn't _dodge, it would be safest if they could cast a strong shield than not. After that, Sal suggested that they do a five-way, free-for-all fight using the tickling charm only, ending only when all but one participant could do no more than giggle on the floor.

In about half an hour, Harry emerged as the victorious champion while Blaise lasted the second longest – dropping only after being hit for the sixth time. It then took another ten minutes before one of them finally managed to stop laughing for long enough to cast _'__finite cantatem'. _

Maybe the reason why he was having so much fun, Blaise thought, was because here he could practice all he wanted without worrying about appearances. Back in the common room they'd all have to take care not to fail a spell too many times, or lose too many spars, or look either weak or undignified in general. Here, among these friends, nobody really cared. It was really refreshing.

Picking themselves off the floor, they'd wished the conjured table and poufs back into the middle of the room and practiced their Nocturnes. They could all just about manage most of the compositions in the repertoire now – the simplest two lines at least - so they could play together fairly smoothly as long as it wasn't too fast. They even finally got to hear what the _'__Hogwarts' _Nocturne sounded like. Harry wanted the 'Gryffindor' line, naturally. Sal offered to play the Ravenclaw part, which was fitting since she was almost a Ravenclaw anyways. Theo, however, drew the short straw and was made to play 'Hufflepuff' (and then vehemently insisted that no, he absolutely did not _pout!_)

But the Nocturne was majestic, with high and low running chains of notes dancing around each other - counterpoint, Avery had called it - and all over a sweet melody and a steady, march-like bass. Blaise was not an expert in music like Avery, but he found himself longing to hear what it would be like if the whole school played it instead of just the five of them.

"I think we should invite a few more people to join us," said Sal, echoing Blaise's thoughts.

But who? Harry knew better than to suggest Ron Weasley - even though they were cordial with the redhead for Harry's sake, this group was meant for _friends. _Blaise didn't really feel like bringing any of the other Slytherins in to this either, and neither did Theo and Daphne by the looks of it.

"How about Neville?" Harry suggested. "He's also practicing Nocturnes on his own."

"Longbottom?" Daphne raised an eyebrow, "he's nice enough, but are you sure he'd be able to keep up with this? I would feel really bad if we have to tell him to leave…"

This turned into a minor debate, as Blaise also expressed his doubts that the undeniably clumsy boy could keep up with their duels and the spells they were going to learn. But Theo shrugged and noted that Longbottom was able to learn the shield charm in first year so he couldn't be _too _shabby, and Harry pointed out that Neville had improved pretty quickly last year. Whereas he used to be the last in the class, he had moved to somewhere closer to the middle. _And _Neville was great at herbology.

So maybe not yet, then. But they'd watch for Neville Longbottom in the future.

"And how about Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein from Ravenclaw?" Sal suggested, "They have good grades, and I talk to them sometime in the library. And we all know Boot from arithmancy class."

"I know Goldstein too," Daphne nodded, "I think he'd like this."

"That's a good idea," Blaise agreed. Goldstein apparently had the highest grade last year, ranking just above Sal and Theo. Boot was obviously not too far behind, and he seemed to be a genius at arithmancy from what they'd seen so far.

"So that would make us seven then," Daphne smiled, "You know, if we're going to have a lair and everything we might as well give ourselves a name."

"We don't have a lair," Sal corrected her, "but a name would be nice, yes."

"Er… Defence Association? Since we're learning to defend ourselves against Black?"

Theo snorted. "Eh, I think 'Harry's vendetta conspirators' would be more suitable if we're going that route."

"The study party? But with a capital 'T'?"

"The overachievers-with-nothing-better-to-do-on-a-Saturday?"

"But we don't have nothing to do, Blaise…"

"I know, but I said nothing _better _to do."

"How about 'The Nocturne Group'?" Sal offered, "Simplicity is better."

"The _Nocturne Group_," Daphne sounded it out slowly, "that sounds mysterious."

"That sounds a bit dark," Blaise realized, "but that's ok I guess." _The Nocturne Group_. Huh. It was as plain as a name could be, yet somehow it still conjured mental images of shadows. After what was drilled into their heads in first year, he still felt a bit surprised when anything remotely Dark-inclined was mentioned outside of Slytherin... But things were different now. The political climate had certainly changed after last year.

Besides, a Gryffindor suggested it, so his hands were clean.

"Nocturne group it is!" Theo smirked. "Mystery is nice. I mean, as Blaise said, we have a _lair_ and everything."

"It's not a lair, Blaise!"

"Hey! Fight your own battles Theo!"

Theo responded by turning his chin up and striking an amazingly haughty pose that would make any Slytherin jealous. Blaise retaliated by wishing a large, fluffy pillow into existence right on top of his friend's face. This provoked another tickling battle since Theo had no idea who was responsible for the pillow, and soon they were all diving and ducking around hastily 'wished' obstacles to avoid the flying charms.

_'__Oh yes,'_ Blaise laughed as he dodged behind the table to avoid intensifying his giggle fit even more, _'nothing beats a day with friends__.'_

And Blaise suddenly felt very lucky to have good friends like them.

* * *

Remus peered at the young bespectacled boy before him. His head of messy black hair looked particularly unruly today, Remus noticed. _'__Just like James. Merlin…'_

Remus knew he was very lucky to have had good friends like them. And Merlin did he miss those days...

"Um, Professor Lupin? I have a question, if you don't mind," It was Harry himself who eventually stirred Remus out of his reminiscing. "When we fought the boggart in class, how come you didn't let me try?"

"I assumed that it would take the form of Lord Voldemort for you, and I didn't think it would be a good idea to frighten the class," Remus answered honestly. Poor Prongslet, to have to face that monster so young… _'This was not meant to be, Prongslet. You were supposed to grow up happily with nothing to worry about save homework and detentions and girlfriends at most, with your mum and dad by your side. With all of us - Peter, me, and ... Sirius... But now...'_

"I thought it would be him at first, but then I remembered that Dementor from the train." If anything, Harry looked relieved at his answer. Perhaps he thought that Remus thought he couldn't manage the boggart, the new Defence professor realized.

Remus was actually very impressed with his third year Gryffindor class. Aside from Hermione, everyone else managed to force the boggart to change shape on the first try. And even Hermione did it on the second try – albeit rather dramatically. "Ah, but this suggests that your worst fear is… fear itself. That's very wise, Harry."

"I just don't get why I react so badly to them!" Harry grumbled, "Nobody else faints around them, do they?"

"It has nothing to do with weakness," Remus assured him, "The dementors affect you worse because there are horrors in your past that other people don't have."

Prongslet nodded reluctantly. "Sally said something like that too,"

"Sally-Anne Perks?"

"Er… no. Hermione, I meant. She reads about everything."

Right. The girl whose boggart was a mirror was a good friend of Harry's then. She'd also shared a train compartment with him now that Harry mentioned it. Remus had almost forgotten for some reason. Strange…

"Professor, if dementors affect everybody, even strong wizards…"

"Yes, Harry."

"Even powerful wizards like Merlin and Godric Gryffindor and Professor Dumbledore?"

"Even more so, Harry."

"… Then somebody's got to have found a way to defend against them right? Sally said those _things _were bothering people since a long time ago. There's got to be a sort of shield spell, or something?"

Remus smiled despite himself. "You've got your mother's brains, Harry. Truly. Yes, there is a spell, but it's very advanced, well beyond OWL level. Professor Dumbledore forbade them from entering the school, and I think the headmaster literally controls a ward around Hogwarts that stops them, so you'll be fine if you stay away from them."

"Wait, Professor you said… Did you know my mum, Professor? Could you tell me more about her? It's just…" Harry shuffled on his feet and stared at Remus's desk, "I hardly even know anything about her. All I know is from when people tell me about my eyes and from when I get too close to a dementor."

Remus was about to tell him that Lily was the best person ever, but was confused by the last part. "Dementor, Harry?"

"When I get too close to a dementor I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum."

Oh, Prongslet… Remus so dearly wanted to hug him, to protect him like he wasn't able to all those years ago, but thought better of it. _'__Harry doesn't really know you, remember?' _"Your mother Lily was the brightest witch of her time, Harry. She was such a happy girl then, and a wonderful friend," Remus whispered. He could hardly swallow the lump in his throat. "And when she had you she was overjoyed…"

Prongslet shivered, and Remus's throat seized up again.

Then Harry suddenly looked up, his eyes pleading. "Could you still try to teach me that spell, Professor? What if I end up having to pass them again? I – I don't think I can stand listening to - to –"

When he looked at him like that, what could Remus possibly say?

"Well… all right. I'll try to help. Er, maybe not today though," It was too close to the full moon. "Come by my office next Sunday?"

"Thank you Professor!" Harry brightened visibly, "I'll try really, really hard! I'm already practicing duelling with Sally and Blaise and the others, and we're teaching ourselves shield charms too!"

"Duelling? Already?" Remus found himself smiling too. Merlin, he could still remember baby-Prongslet dumping pudding into his hair! A Marauder even then… "Even your father wasn't this enthusiastic, Harry!"

But what remained of the great Marauders? Two dead, one on the run for murdering the two others, and one left to mourn the losses...

"We're preparing ourselves in case Sirius Black comes."

"Right. It's always best to be ready…" _'__Why did you do it, Sirius? Your own friends? Were we not brothers in all but blood?'_

Remus must've let his feelings show, because Prongslet was watching him with a bit of concern now. Wishing Harry good luck on his noble endeavour to master duelling, Professor Lupin ushered him out of his office before sinking heavily into his chair.

_'__I miss you, James. And I'll make sure Prongslet stays safe. I promise you that.'_

* * *

**A.N.:_ Warm welcome for Mastermind17, who'd offered to beta read for this story! This chapter hasn't been checked yet, but if I end up making any drastic changes I'll let you know at the start of the next chapter._**

**_To clarify, Sal's boggart is the mirror of Erised showing Salazar with a hypothetical family, and the implications of this will become important later. The second figure in the mirror is meant to be symbolic and not anybody in particular. _**

**_I think Canon!Hermione only broke down from overworking because she actually tried to use the time turner as little as possible. Partly because she was an obedient little girl and afraid to break rules, and partly because overusing a time turner will make you grow old faster than your friends. Sal has no such qualms in both cases, so the time turner should solve her workload problem rather than increase it. Also, Sal wouldn't be spending time on researching hippogriffs this year so that also helps._**


	54. Year 3: Chapter 6

_'__Dear Tom, today was nice, although it's getting chilly outside. I got five points for transfiguring my rat into a glass goblet, and Professor McGonagall said it looked pretty good. And in Defence Against the Dark Arts we get a group project! We're supposed to research different ways of defeating Red Caps. Gloria, Rowley, and Henry agreed to work with me.'_

**_'_****_Group project? I didn't have to do too many of those when I was a student, thankfully. It's incredibly annoying when one person comes up with all the good ideas and everybody gets credit, but you still have to put up with them to get a good grade.'_**

Hermione smirked. Of course Tom would think so. _'__Did you have to work with a lot of bad groups, Tom?'_

**_'_****_Half the time they can't tell one end of a wand from the other, and they end up getting the same mark as me. At least the professors knew who did the thinking, though.'_**

_'__My professor told us we could choose our own groups, so that we can find people closer to our own skill levels.'_

**_'_****_Mine did too, but I'd rather work with idiots than people who think themselves smart and refuse to listen to someone who knows better than them.' _**Then, in perfectly neat letters, **_'_****_Besides, this way at least the people who are doing badly can learn something from the project.'_**

_'__That's so nice of you, Tom!' _Hermione humoured him. Better unintelligent than disobedient, huh? This fitted with what she'd heard of his policy of gaining power through instilling fear and obliterating opponents. It also explained why he chose to murder his way to power rather than a quiet takeover through, say, running for Minister. But he was clearly capable of making some concessions here since he'd managed to get a few decent followers after all – like Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, and probably Tristan Nott as well. Then again, it was highly likely that he did not believe they could possibly threaten _him_.

_'__Well Rowley, Henry, Gloria and I talked a bit about the project this class, and they seem pretty nice. I can't wait to start working with them! Maybe they'll even become friends with me, since we'll be spending so much time together. Goodnight, Tom!'_

**_'_****_Goodnight, Sally.'_**

* * *

Having taught at Hogwarts for twenty or so years, Hermione had always remembered the North Tower as a classroom for advance duelling. Hence, to see it filled with smoke and incense and half-asleep students as it was now was especially disconcerting.

They were supposed to be staring at tealeafs again, but their professor decided at the last minute that she would introduce them to Tarot cards because she "foresaw" herself teaching this topic.

"Ooh your third card is #6: the Lovers, Lavender!" Parvati was squealing, "Does that mean she's going to fall in love, Professor?"

But Hermione doubted that Professor Trelawney heard her, for the great seer herself was currently bent over Harry and Ron's table and clutching dramatically at her heart. "Death! My poor boy! I – when I saw the Grim in the tea leaves I thought desperately that I may be wrong, but- No, it's kinder not to say – "

"Why's that card even in the deck?" Harry muttered under his breath as Lavender and Parvati immediately twisted around to stare at him with wide, pitying eyes.

Ron on the other hand looked a bit uncomfortable now. "Er… Professor… Those three cards are mine, not Harry's…"

Looking obviously put out, Trelawney shuffled over to Lavender's table.

"Ok, go ahead Sally," Neville called, fanning out a deck of cards.

Hermione carelessly pulled out the second, fourth, and sixth card from the left.

"Ok so that's #20: Judgement, #18: The Moon, and #16: The Tower, all upright," Neville consulted the thick tome titled _'__Unfogging the Future'_ , "It says judgement represents rebirth, or absolution. The moon represents a fear, especially due to something long hidden – an ancient secret and such. The tower is for revelation. So would that mean you have a deep secret that's going to be revealed and you're afraid? But what would the first card mean? No that can't be right could it?… Hang on 'The Tower' can also mean danger or disaster, so maybe it means you have a dangerous secret that – but that can't be right! I mean, you're like the least likely person to be dangerous... Maybe I read something wrong -"

Hermione arched an eyebrow. _'__Well. That was actually surprisingly accurate, considering…'_ "It's ok, Neville, don't bother. I think I know what this means."

"Er, y-you do, Sally?"

"Yes. I think we forgot to shuffle the deck, see? The cards are all in order."

"…Oh. _Right_!"

Despite whatever misgivings she had for Divination, however, Hermione found that she didn't mind the class too much. The setting was perfect for zoning out or doing other work, and as for homework, the profound-sounding bullshit that characterized the subject could be produced automatically by a well-charmed, well-modified dicto-quill.

"What are you writing, Sally?" Neville peered over the table when he noticed the notebook on her lap.

"Don't laugh, but I'm writing a novel," Hermione answered truthfully, "It's about a travelling inventor who goes on adventures and solves problems for people."

Having started working on this manuscript a little while before the end of her second year at Hogwarts, Hermione was already nearly through the first draft. She was glad that she'd saved a record of Lockhart's self-absorbed rambling that Lockhart during their correspondence now. Self-praising it may be, but the detailed descriptions and rationales of all the measures he'd tried to ensure the popularity of his writing was beyond useful. Honestly, if the man only just wrote fiction instead of fake autobiographies he would've been famous already, but no…

"You're writing a story? Cool!" Always the first to overhear things, Seamus leaned over.

"I thought it would be a good way to make some money," Hermione shrugged. _'__And a good way to send a message…'_

Because literature was one of the greatest tools of directing the attitude of a society. Perhaps this was why practically every revolution in muggle history had its representative writers, artists, and musicians. But having spent much time in bookstores like Flourish and Blotts, Hermione found that most of the admittedly small selection of wizard-authored novels were either along the lines of 'Hero slays dragon' or 'Hero discovers ancient artifact'. Neither of which encouraged innovation rather than merely repeating ancient knowledge, or taming danger on occasions rather than slaying it.

If the tension due to the issue of the Dark Arts - the collective of the most potent magicks - was to be truly resolved, she would do well to change that.

Then, there was the fact that due to limited selection of wizard novels – one would, in fact, be hard pressed to find a story less than fifty years old – children, especially muggleborns, were filling that gap with muggle literature. While this was not entirely undesirable, it does nothing for helping muggleborns understand the magical culture. It also makes the magical world more susceptible to some muggle bad habits such as sexism and the obsession with body shape - bad habits that muggles developed back before they had science, when their survival still depended on physical strength. While studying news records and trying to catch up on important events that occurred in the past millennium, Hermione had seen many evidences of powerful matriarchs and patriarchs fighting teeth and nail to keep these attitudes out, but still it was very slowly creeping into the lower echelons of the magical society.

It was in fact one of the cause of tension between muggleborns and the old families, although the "progressives" and the advocates for a warmer welcome for muggleborns often don't realize this due to the abundant prejudice on both sides. The availability of reading material that was "modern" but definitely rooted in the magical culture would help to change that as well.

And finally, there was the benefit of having a clear source of income to her own name. Although she did not necessarily expect it to be as much as what she could earn through the Silver Spindle it would finally explain why Hermione Granger had more money than a muggleborn should, giving her a bit more room to maneuver.

"Wicked!" Ron said enviously.

"Well, I don't know how well this is going to sell yet so I'm just daydreaming at the moment," Hermione pointed out, "but you know, you could try and do something too. Start a business and the likes."

"Cease the chattering, if you please!" scolded Professor Trelawnley, "Mundane conversations cloud the Inner Eye!"

Hmm. It wouldn't be a bad idea to bring her writing every Divination class. If the news spread and she was lucky, she just might inspire a few people. And it wasn't as if she actually cared about the g_rade_ for this anyways.

"I don't get this class," Neville muttered as Parvati and Lavender started to wave feverishly for Trelawnley's attention again.

"You and I both, Neville. You and I both..."

Though she did wonder, what would _Professor Trelawnley_ have said if she'd seen her hand of cards?

* * *

Remus sat at his desk, and opened yet another parchment to grade. Snape's wolfbane potion saved him from transforming into a monster every month – which he was extremely grateful for, but it had the side effect of making him feel ill near the full moon.

Salazar, it was astounding just how much paperwork could build up over less than a week.

And this morning he had to teach Harry how to cast a patronus as he promised. Prongslet had done brilliantly, actually managing to conjure a smoky patronus after two hours of patient practicing and trial and error to find a strong enough memory. He looked a little bit put out when he learned that a patronus was actually supposed to look like an animal rather than just smoke, but assured Remus that he would keep practicing until he gets it right. Remus made a mental promise to find another boggart sometime, so that Harry could have something to test his patronus against. It was as close to a real dementor as they were going to get…

But the point was, none of this did anything for the massive pile of essays to read. Remus sighed.

_'__Red caps can be found in battlefields and places of bloodshed, where they hide in crevices to ambush the wounded survivors…'_

This one was another one of the "better" papers, Remus thought as he wrote _'__Outstanding, and good job on the extra research' _on the parchment. It fell slightly on the short side of the full page he'd asked the students for, but it covered all the important points and a few extra details as well. And whose work was this?

_'__Hermione Granger, Gryffindor' _

The girl who reads everything, according to Harry. That explained it.

Remus was about to set the essay aside to grade the next one, but paused. _'__There it is again! That funny feeling…?'_

Remus frowned. He wasn't sure why, but even from the first time he'd seen that particular student he'd been getting a strange feeling that she was somehow… different. It was as if there was something significant about her that he should know, but he just couldn't think of what. True, she was Harry's friend. True, she was consistently doing very well in Defence Against the Dark Arts (and all her other classes too, according to the other teachers). But Remus was pretty sure it wasn't either of those things, or the mystery would be solved. There seemed to be something… else, was there?

True, she was the only one in her class who didn't defeat the boggart on the first try, but was that really so strange? Strange enough that Remus would be thinking about it even now? Besides, that would imply that Remus was reminding himself that she needed extra help in D.A.D.A., when she certainly didn't. It didn't make sense.

Or was it the part where the boggart turned into a mirror? A mirror… Maybe…?

No, that was stupid. Hermione Granger was definitely human, and whoever invented the myth that vampires were afraid of mirrors was definitely a muggle. But if it hadn't been something _Moony_ smelled on her, then what?

Remus didn't know.

Ah well. Maybe he was being silly.

Breaking out of his wool-gathering, Remus got back to work on the giant pile of essays. But maybe he'd ask the other professors what their impression of one Hermione Granger was.

After all, it couldn't hurt anybody…

* * *

**A.N.: Haha raise your hand if you somewhat agree with Tom XD Don't worry, you're not alone... **

**P****lease vote on my profile page for which pairing(s), if any, you think could be suitable for Sally! The final pairing will be decided once I get to Year 4. No romance will start until at least year 4, though.**


	55. Year 3: Chapter 7

_'__Dear Tom, today a strange professor showed up at supper. Gloria said one of her friends said she's the Divination teacher. She looked the part, I guess. I think she was wearing at least two shawls and at least five necklaces. And she kept pointing to things and apparently making little predictions all throughout supper. And when Filch, the caretaker, came late to supper and was about to sit down, she actually leapt up and screamed something about it being bad to seat 13 people at a table at a time! And then she refused to sit back down and left without finishing her meal! Anyways, she gave people quite a fright. Is 13 even special?'_

**_'_****_It's been theorised that some numbers are magically significant, like 7,' _**Tom replied, **_'_****_I don't know if any number warrants running away from supper though.'_**

_'__I hope not, because that would be annoying. I never believed in fortune telling before, but I didn't know there was a whole subject about it at Hogwarts,' _Hermione wrote back in preparation for the question that she really wanted him to answer. _'__Tom, do you think Divination is real? Can people really see the future?'_

**_'_****_I never thought too highly of Divination class when I was in school, to be honest, so I didn't take that elective. But then again, there are well-known seers like Cassandra Trelawney in the magical world, and they didn't get famous for nothing. We should keep an open mind, I'd say.'_**

He wasn't lying, Hermione noted.

So that was why he went after the Potters. He didn't feel prophesies were important enough to study their nature extensively, but he wasn't willing to take any chances. A great deal of caution was at play here. A great deal, indeed…

**_'_****_But tell me about your group project, Sally. It sounds like you and Gloria are getting along?'_**

_'__Oh yes! The four of us meet for a while every day to talk about our research, and we even sit together at meals sometime.' _Hermione wrote, _'__I hope I can become as good friends with them as you and me, Tom.' _

**_'_****_I'm glad you're making new friends, Sally,' _**Tom wrote in perfectly neat printing. And he seemed to be turning up the attachment-inducing charm again.

A horcrux, it seemed, can have direct control over the spells anchored on its vessel. It supported the theory that the soul fragment within the horcrux powered the magic of its enchantments. It also suggested that any extremely powerful attack should be able to overcome the shielding and destroy the horcrux, not just the basilisk venom that did it for Herpo's. _'__Thanks, Tom! You're the best. Goodnight!'_

**_'_****_Sleep well, Sally.'_**

* * *

Late afternoon, the formerly empty hall was suddenly filled with laughter.

"You guys are good," Terry Boot nodded appreciatively as they left the Room of Requirements. "I only started learning last year."

"Same here," Anthony Goldstein admitted, "at first I just started reading about it because I was curious what the Baron meant by Nocturne, but it turned out to be pretty neat."

"I know right? That's how I felt when I first found out about it too!" Hermione offered up. She'd been hoping to bring someone from Ravenclaw into their group for a while now. Spending so much time in the library had certainly helped this cause. Terry and Anthony were both smart, competent students who she'd been fairly sure her friends in the newly dubbed Nocturne Group would get along with fine. So far, it seemed her guess was correct.

"And I love your idea of the tickle duel," said Terry, "This way we get to practice aiming and dodging, and it's really fun."

("Duels should not be _fun_! Ha!" Interjected Sir Cadogan from the wall, swinging his sword as they passed, "Duels should be deadly! Fought in the name of valour - ")

"Hey, you guys excited for the Hogsmeade visit on Halloween or what?" Blaise remembered.

"Biggest understatement of the year, mate," Harry grinned. "I'm so glad I could convince my uncle…" They'd all received permission to visit the little village. Even Harry, having carefully planned, timed, and worded his request for Uncle Vernon's signature. The reward clearly made the victory sweeter.

"My mum was a bit concerned about Sirius Black showing up, to be honest," said Anthony, "but she figured I'd be okay with the professors and dementors guarding us. Although personally, I can't say I like the dementors there too much."

"Do you think having the dementors here is really necessary?" asked Terry. "I keep hearing people say that a criminal like him might do anything, but that doesn't mean he's going to do every bad thing he can think of, right? I'd reckon it's most likely that he'd disappeared off to somewhere to live quietly. Who says he's even going to infiltrate Hogwarts anyways?"

"Most of the rumours you hear here is nonsense," Theo frowned, "but Minister Fudge said he heard Black muttering 'He's at Hogwarts' in the days before his escape. We think that's why Dumbledore's even worried in the first place. Although, there is that smear campaign theory…"

"I don't think Sirius Black is the sort of man to hide away in obscurity for the rest of his life," a new voice said, "Although I didn't think he would do what he did either."

"Professor Lupin!" Harry greeted happily.

Strange, Hermione could swear the hallway had been completely empty a few seconds ago. Lupin must've came from the secret passage. Interesting, that he should know about that one.

"Oh, you were in school around the same time as Sirius Black, right, Professor Lupin?" Daphne asked.

Lupin nodded, but did not elaborate. Though Hermione noticed he looked visibly saddened at that.

"I think they were friends once," Daphne declared not long after they parted with the new professor. Evidently she noticed Lupin's reaction as well.

"It would make sense," said Harry thoughtfully as they descended the stairs, "Sirius Black was best friends with my dad and Professor Lupin knew my mum very well – he told me when he was teaching me to cast a patronus. They were probably all in the same class."

"If you don't mind me saying, Harry," Blaise nodded sagely, "people ought to be more careful with who they trust."

"Easier said than done," Anthony snorted. "Nobody expects to get betrayed, do they?"

"True, but there's also a reason why the careful ones tend to live longer," Blaise pointed out, "but I guess you're right. Easier said than done."

"Spoken like a Slytherin," Anthony snorted again. "…But who would've thought? I mean, they were all friends once!"

Friends may move on though, Hermione answered silently. Unbidden thoughts flew back to another lifetime, to four intrepid youths fighting together for a goal so much greater than any thought possible. Such great friends, who seemed as if they'd never leave each other's sides. _'__Unlike with the Potters, _my _friends had never betrayed me, and they'd always given me help when I asked.'_

But friends do move on…

Hermione shook her head free of that train of thoughts. She was reminiscing too much again. But Anthony was right. The circumstances around Sirius Black were quite sad. And now that he'd escaped from Azkaban Lupin would be feeling at once angry, hurt and confused, she'd imagine.

"I guess that's something, huh? Anyways, we'd better go. I'm hungry…"

* * *

When Remus emerged from what used to be one of the Marauders' favourite secret passages to hear Prongslet and friends theorizing that Sirius might've hidden away to live quietly, he just had to say something.

Sirius would rather eat his own foot than live quietly. Or being thought to hide away, especially by his godson.

_'__Why, Sirius? Are you really coming here to murder your own godson, as they say?'_

To be honest, Remus didn't expect to see a group of three Slytherins, two Ravenclaws and one Gryffindor with Harry. It was another one of the things he was pleasantly surprised by upon returning to Hogwarts to teach this year. He didn't think it was possible for Gryffindors and Slytherins to pass each other in the halls without throwing some hexes, and what his own friends used to do to poor Severus was unfortunately an example of this. Yet this year, all the older students seemed at least civil with each other as far as Remus could see, while quite a few mixed groups like these even formed among the younger students (although, those were rarely larger than three). Remus now very vaguely remembered Harry mentioning the name Blaise when he was talking about practicing spells with his friends, but Remus certainly didn't make the connection at the time.

James would probably throw a fit if he was to see his son's present company, Remus chuckled to himself. It seemed that Harry was a more mature person than James at this age.

"Watch where you're going, Lupin."

Remus stopped and looked up just in time to narrowly avoid walking into Severus, who seemed to be shielding a smoking goblet from the expected impact. _'__Well speak of the devil…'_

"Your potion. I made a cauldron full if you need more."

"Thank you, Severus," Remus took the goblet of Wolfsbane potion, feeling extremely awkward. "Er, I really appreciate this." Really, what was one supposed to say when the person you used to gang up on became the brewer of the only thing that allowed you to live like a normal person?

Severus's lips twitched. "I do believe this is the door to your office, Lupin. Are you going to go in, or are you waiting for me to open the door for you?"

"Er, right, have a good day, then," Remus wanted nothing more than to finish this conversation that he knew neither of them enjoyed, except just ducking away would be rude. Not to mention cowardly. "Er, Severus, I've been meaning to ask you, what's your impression on a third year Gryffindor named Hermione Granger?"

Snape arched a sardonic eyebrow. "What's this about, Lupin?"

"Er, well," Honestly, Remus had just blurted out the first thing he thought of. And he'd actually been planning to start his inquiries with Minerva, not Severus. Ah, well. "it just seems to me that there's something about her that makes her stand out, and just now I passed her walking with Harry and three of your students -"

Severus's nostrils flared angrily, informing Remus that it had been the wrong thing to say. "Yes, Harry Potter is not turning out to be James Junior, is he? If you're afraid that we've been corrupting your precious –"

"No, no, that's not what I meant! I'm just curious, is all. Forget I said anything. See you at dinner, Severus."

And fled into the safety of his office. Today was really not his day.

* * *

Leaving the Defence classroom, Severus made a beeline for the dungeons. He'd really rather not interact with the mutt more than absolutely necessary, yet Lupin was actually _prolonging_ the conversation by blathering on and on!

For the umpteenth time since the start of the year, Severus silently cursed the headmaster for hiring a Marauder. Just when the idiot Lockhart landed himself in St Mungo's and he thought things were taking an upturn!

"You've delivered Mr. Lupin's potion, I notice." A familiar voice floated from the wall.

"You notice too much for a portrait, has anyone told you that?" Severus glared at the potion master in the portrait. As always, unperturbed silver eyes stared back at him.

"Not really," The figure in green shrugged and swapped two flasks. "Besides, hasn't my noticing things helped you in the past?"

That was true. Back when Severus was a student, it had been this portrait who used to warned him whenever he heard the group of four students who called themselves the Marauders plotting one of their more … targeted pranks. James Potter and his crew did eventually catch on and realize that a portrait might be snitching, but it took them nearly two years. Morons.

"If it helps, Remus Lupin didn't like the Marauders bullying you. In private he would try to convince them to stop, and suggest a general prank instead. Some of the times he succeeded."

"But he still stood by them when they were publically humiliating me," Severus countered. _'__And he almost killed me in fifth year. But that was more Black's fault than his.'_

"True, he did," the Potion Master nodded. "How much you choose to forgive is, of course, up to you."

"Well, I suppose I should thank you for your preaching."

"Just looking out for a fellow potion master," the portrait waved airily. The sarcasm was completely ignored – deliberately, Severus was sure.

"Lupin was asking me about one of Potter's friends, Hermione Granger. He told me he thought there's something off about her and said he'd seen her and Potter walk with three of my students. Then he tried to pretend he meant nothing by it," Severus snorted, "He's such a bad liar he shouldn't even try." The slight inflection of surprise in Lupin's voice when he said that bit had been clear. Probably wondering how the girl managed to talk Potter into associating with the snakes, he'd imagine, because oh no, _James's_ son would _never _do that.

Granted, it was rather hypocritical of himself, since hadn't he believed that Harry Potter couldn't possibly be any different from his father until last year?

Though, now that he thought about it, it _was_ Hermione Granger who'd somehow made friends with Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Daphne Greengrass first. So technically the wolf would be right in that she probably influenced Potter. In fact, she might even be the first...?

"Hmm," the Potion Master contemplated, "but you know Lupin has just returned to Hogwarts this year. It's understandable that he would find some things different from his old school days. He doesn't necessarily mean any ill by his surprise."

"Perhaps," Severus conceded. What was he thinking about before the portrait spoke again?

"I'd gladly preach some more, as you put it, but I have a feeling that it would not be appreciated," the Potion Master leaned over a thin vase of roses to peer at him, "Good day, Severus."

"Have fun watching students scramble up to dinner, Potion Master."

"Oh don't worry, Severus," the portrait's silver eyes gleamed, "I'll make my own plans."


	56. Year 3: Chapter 8

_'__Dear Tom, it was very frosty outside today. The last leaves were shivering on their branches, and the wind was chilling to the bones! I saw two squirrels dive into a hole in a tree stump this morning. It was almost as if they needed each other to weather the cold.'_

**_'_****_I suppose, conservation of heat and all, since they cannot wield a wand and cast a warming charm. It's pitiable, really.'_**

_'__And instead the poor critters have to rely on a companion, don't they?'_

**_'_****_Exactly. I've always felt sorry for those poor creatures out there that couldn't take care of themselves.'_**

_'__Me too, Tom… It's still nice and warm in the common room, though. Everyone's working hard on the project these days. I think Lady Ravenclaw would be proud of us. Did you know we actually have a statue of her watching over us in the tower?'_

**_'_****_I've heard something like it from one of the Ravenclaw prefects once, actually. It's a nice place you've got.'_**

_'__I wonder if there's something of the other founders in the other common rooms. Have you seen a statue of Slytherin in yours, Tom?'_

**_'_****_No, I've never seen one of him anywhere. How is your project going, by the way?"_**

_'__It's been really fun so far! We've been doing some more research today. Rowley found five more books that might be useful, and we haven't even finished going through the ones Gloria and I took out last time yet. We're going to have loads to write about!'_

**_'_****_Good luck with that, then, Sally. You know, you can also feel free to ask me if you need any help.'_**

_'__Thank you so much, Tom! I can't believe I almost forgot that you're a genius! I'll be sure to ask you if I think of anything. Goodnight for now, Tom!'_

**_'_****_Goodnight, Sally.'_**

* * *

"So Snape thinks that Lupin thinks something's off about me?"

Portrait-Salazar nodded, and ignored the chuckling of Portrait Godric on his right. "I don't believe Severus knows why. We should hope that I managed to distract him before he thinks too much on it."

In her Chamber, Hermione had just received a debrief from her portrait self about their new Defence professor. Remus Lupin was apparently an undiscovered werewolf since he was a first year – explaining why the boggart turned into a white orb for him, she supposed. Dumbledore had somehow ensured that he could transform each month without coming into contact with any students. He, like James Potter, was a part of the four membered trouble-making group that Portrait-Salazar had often observed. Unfortunately, the Marauders were not only pranksters but also bullies, and their favourite victim happened to be a young Severus Snape. They used to use the passage guarded by her portrait self quite frequently – understandably, since it was one of the four primary passages that lead straight to the entrance hall – but eventually stopped since Portrait-Salazar had gotten into the habit of muttering warnings to Snape as he passed. Hermione had raised an eyebrow at this, as she didn't think the Lupin she'd met seemed the type. But people could change with time and circumstance, obviously.

Hermione frowned. Despite her… puzzling boggart, she'd given no reason for Lupin to be extraordinarily curious about her except…"Something must've gone wrong with the obliviation."

The memory removal of a very particular portion of, but not the entirety of, a shocking event did tend to be the most difficult. Especially when one had to obliviate two people within two seconds. Some of Lupin's surprise might've remained even though he no longer remembered her patronus. That, coupled with the fact that certain magical creatures have a subconscious reaction to the magical cores of "threats" in their vicinity, may have been enough to incite Lupin's curiosity. "I suppose Lupin is asking the other professors about me, then. Do you think Lupin will forget about it if his inquiries turn up nothing unusual?" She asked the portraits.

"Most likely. Assuming that you didn't give him too much to go on, there shouldn't be a problem if no one else shared his opinion."

Hermione steepled her fingers. "McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and the others should be fine. The most they'd say would be that I'm very well learned. Binns probably won't even remember there's been a 'Hermione Granger' in his class. Filch has no reason to believe that I was the invisible entity that Mrs. Norris nearly noticed sometimes. I would prefer that he doesn't talk to Dumbledore, but he probably won't go that far. The only one who might be a problem, I think, is…"

"Severus, yes," Portrait-Salazar steepled his fingers as well, "But Lupin already asked him and wasn't very well received, so I doubt they would talk again. I think you should be fine, unless we get very unlucky."

For now, it was just something to watch out for. But just in case it doesn't all blow over, now was also a good time to make sure she'd have a plan.

Remus Lupin … The soft-spoken professor really was a trouble maker.

"Tell me more about the Marauders?" Hermione asked.

"Ah, Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail, and Prongs. I only knew them by face and nicknames at first since that's how they address each other, but Moony was Remus Lupin and Prongs was James Potter. I suppose Sirius Black was either Padfoot or Wormtail, then, if he was best friends with Potter as they say. I never learned the name of the fourth boy either."

Hermione reminded herself to find a wanted poster of Sirius Black to "introduce" to Portrait-Salazar sometime.

"Oh, I've seen them come down to the kitchen to pilfer food often enough as well," said Portrait-Helga, "They remind me of the four of us."

"Except we had a much better ending than they did," Portrait-Rowena observed.

Portrait-Helga sighed happily. "We were perfect, weren't we? If only all friendship were like ours! It's too bad history got it all wrong. Sal getting driven away from Hogwarts over a falling out – pheh!"

"A lot of people try to attribute things to emotional causes even when there's none," Portrait-Salazar shrugged, "But I'm glad we finally had that detail cleared up last year, Sal."

Hermione nodded, staring into the lukewarm, perfectly controlled green flames in her stone fireplace. "Right. And everything else is progressing smoothly as well."

"You know, you could sound a little happier, Sal," Portrait-Godric chuckled, "This should be a lot of accomplishments in two years even for an inhumanly ambitious git like you. Let's see, you've already cleared your name. Your legacy is already steering back to what it's meant to be. Your magical training is coming along quickly, especially since you're growing up a little faster with time turning. And you're gradually getting on your feet finance-wise too. Didn't your store already break even?"

"It's to be expected, since we've just caught the fall shopping season and I really haven't invested a lot of gold there. And tomorrow I should have the business with the book settled as well," Hermione confirmed. "I'm very happy about that, believe me. I'm just thinking…"

Just now she'd been visited by an … indefinable feeling that was not entirely unfamiliar. What was it? It felt almost as if she was standing in a tall tower, observing the world below through a spyglass. And missing something important, but so very subtle...

"We'll keep an eye on Remus Lupin for you, if that's what you're worried about," Portrait-Rowena promised.

Was it something to do with Lupin or Snape that she'd been thinking of? Or Sirius Black, perhaps? Or perhaps it was a figment of her imagination.

Hermione bade the portraits goodnight. Maybe she'd sleep on that one.

The next day saw the much anticipated Hogsmeade visit. Harry and Ron were happily discussing what to buy at a sweets shop called Honeydukes even as they joined her at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. Fred and George were muttering about stink pellets. Neville was speculating about the Shrieking Shack, and wondered if they could see it together.

Maybe, Hermione had said, but she had to meet someone first.

The establishment called The Three Broomsticks was easy enough to find. At ten o'clock, Hermione carefully weaved among the diners until she came upon the tall woman who seemed to be just settling into the corner booth. "Good morning, Madam LeBlanc. My name is Hermione Granger."

The editor of Whizz Hard Books blinked with surprise. It seemed that whatever she'd gathered of 'Hermione Granger' from their correspondence, she was not expecting a thirteen-year-old.

"Pardon me, dear," Madam LeBlanc shook Hermione's hand, "I had thought you were a little… older, is all. I can see now why you asked to meet in Hogsmeade. Generally authors would come to our office."

"I understand that, madam. Thank you for agreeing to this arrangement." Hermione smiled respectfully. She could've met her in Diagon Alley, but she would have a harder time explaining herself later. Besides, she already knew Madam LeBlanc liked her manuscript from their letters.

"Oh it's hardly any trouble, dear," Madam LeBlanc's gaze softened a little, "you'll find that travelling becomes much easier after you get your apparition license. Er, a mulled mead for me please, Rosmerta,"

Hermione ordered a glass of gillywater for herself. Taking out her wand and setting up a sound dampening charm, she noticed Madam LeBlanc watching on with approval.

It would be a careful balance that she'd need to strike: a precocious child, but to be taken seriously. But still a youth nevertheless. Almost like asking for the three Master Peverells' apprenticeship again, she smiled to herself.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think a refreshing story like yours will be fairly well received if we sell it right," said Madam LeBlanc as she leafed through the carefully bound manuscript. Thus, the next hour or so was spent discussing ideas for promotion, after which the sharp-looking editor seemed quite impressed. Hermione herself was impressed that Lockhart's rambling had once again proven useful. It seemed the time she'd spent on him last year was paying off more than she could've hoped. Fortunately, none of these things involved the author making an appearance at first since, ironically, Madam LeBlanc wanted to "play up the intrigue around your identity. We should let your classmates figure out who wrote this book before we disclose your age," nodded the editor decisively, "With luck, rumours will start brewing and we can throw it out there as a shocker by confirming it."

Then they moved on to Hermione's idea for the book cover, which she'd actually hired a muggle to partially design over the summer. The artist didn't even bat an eye at the title, _'__Journal of a Wandering Mage'_ – it was fiction, after all.

"Your 'Wandering Mage' is a strong, likeable character – good, good. Is there a reason why you named her Stella Leiter, I wonder?"

"It means 'star' and 'guide' in Latin and German respectively. I thought it sounded like an interesting name for a traveller." _'__And hopefully a guiding star is what she'll be.'_

And finally there was the matter of royalties, and the signing of contracts. Madam LeBlanc perhaps felt a little guilty about driving the bargain too hard, so Hermione ended up with a decent deal. "Best of luck, then, Miss Granger," said Madam LeBlanc after they paid the bill and shook hands again to depart, "Your payments will be deposited to your Gringott account."

Since her original vault was … rather inaccessible even for goblins, Hermione had opened a new account for all future money transfers. And the convenient thing about business in the magical society was that since many people were eligible to use more than one family name, contracts keyed directly to the magical signature. It actually didn't matter legally which name one signed with ink as long as it wasn't someone else's. Hermione smiled charmingly. "Thank you, Madam LeBlanc. It's been a pleasure."

As Hermione made her way out of the crowded pub, she noted that Professor Lupin, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick seemed to be having a fine time.

* * *

With a mug of butterbeer in hand, Remus was looking forward to a relaxing morning. Himself, Minerva and Filius had volunteered to escort the students to Hogsmeade this time. Merlin, he used to look forward to these visits as much as these children do. Hogsmeade visits for the Marauders had always been a time to replenish their stock of everything – chocolates, prank materials, alcohol, etc. James had always maintained that with their map and his invisibility cloak they could always come back covertly anytime they ran out, but it was still nice to do things properly.

But as a professor he had little to do in Hogsmeade now, and Minerva had suggested that they might as well make camp in the Three Broomsticks until it was time to go back. This option actually appealed to Remus more. It would be nice to catch up with his two favourite teachers from his own school days.

Just this pub itself filled him with nostalgia. How many times had he, James, Peter, and Sirius clinked frothing mugs of butterbeer, laughing over something or the other, in their usual corner booth…?

Today the corner booth was occupied by a surprising pair of people.

"… and when you've had the misfortune of assigning detentions to the Weasley twins, you'd know how we felt watching out for troublemakers like youself, Mr. Lupin," Minerva was saying, "Remus? Something on your mind?"

Remus smiled apologetically. "Just noticing Miss Granger's … associate." Remus knew that The Three Broomsticks was used as a setting for business lunches sometimes. And thus it was not entirely strange for students in higher years to be seen shaking hands with well-dressed strangers – good quidditch players meeting with scouts, most commonly. But one rarely see a third year student signing what seemed to be a contract with a stern-looking grey-haired lady, right?

"That's the editor from Whizz Hard Books," Filius squeaked when he turned in the direction Remus indicated. "Madam LeBlanc. I've met with her a few times about textbook matters."

"I wonder what business she has with Miss Granger?" Minerva set down her goblet of mead. "She's a very precocious lassie, that one."

"I've noticed," said Remus. And since they were on that topic, "Do you ever get the feeling that something just seem to set her apart?"

"Well of course," Minerva looked as if Remus had asked whether the sky was blue today, "she has the one of the highest grades in her year, and this year she's taken an interest in a wide variety of electives. Her essays are also generally well composed and well-reasoned. One of the brightest witch of her age, I would say."

"Yes, she reminds me a little of Lily in that regard," agreed Filius, "she has a clear talent in charms, and she always takes time to help her classmates as well."

"That's certainly true," Remus nodded. But that was all they noticed? Then what was that strange gut feeling about, then? Nervousness about teaching acting up?

Minerva and Filius then started to discuss the Head Boy Percy Weasley's endeavours to find a career opening in the ministry, so Remus put the matter out of his mind for now. Soon it was afternoon, and once Remus went and purchased some chocolate from Honeydukes it was time to take the students back to the castle. The Halloween feast was grand as Remus remembered, and seemed like the end to a perfect day.

That is, until he encountered a few frightened Gryffindors on his way up to his quarters. The Fat Lady's portrait had been slashed, and Peeves's cackles only scared the assembled students more.

Sirius was back.

* * *

**A.N.: Last chapter Portrait-Salazar just distracted Severus when he brought up Sal. No obliviation was involved :)**

**Unfortunately I'm going to be very busy for the next four months, so this story will probably be on hiatus until September...**


	57. Year 3: Chapter 9

_'__Dear Tom, it was very cloudy today. We all thought we were going to see the first snow of the year, but then it cleared up by the afternoon. Henry, Rowley, Gloria and I think we have enough notes now, so we decided to start organizing the information today. It turned out that we have enough pieces of parchments now to cover the whole table! We even ended up burying the inkwell somewhere in the pile. Rowley insisted that I had it last, but I remembered giving it to Gloria so it should've been on their side of the table. We only found it when Rowley accidentally knocked into it with his elbow! It's a good thing Gloria caught it before it spilled everywhere.'_

**_'_****_Rowley should've checked around himself more before insisting anything.'_**

_'__Oh no it's ok! Nobody was actually mad about anything. It was kind of fun, actually. A bit like fishing.'_

**_'_****_Ah, I'm glad to hear that. It's always easier to work with people who are cooperative.'_**

_'__That's true, Tom. By the way, the hint you gave me about Red Caps' normal habitat was very helpful! I can't thank you enough, Tom!'_

**_'_****_It was my pleasure. Sally, you didn't tell anyone who gave you the idea, did you?'_**

_'__No, Tom, I'm sorry I thought about it but I just couldn't! If they found out about you they'd ask to see you, and I...'_

**_'_****_Didn't want to share?'_**

_'__I guess. You must think I'm really selfish.'_

**_'_****_It's ok, Sally. I'm relieved that you didn't tell anyone about me, if anything. I just remembered that if some people know that you have me, they might take me away from you and I won't be able to talk to you again.'_**

_'__I won't let that happen, Tom. I'll be extra careful to keep you hidden and everything. Goodnight, Tom!'_

**_'_****_Sweet dreams, Sally.'_**

* * *

"So Sirius Black tried to break into your common room today and slashed the Fat Lady when she wouldn't let him in?" Blaise was gobsmacked. After an ashen-faced Professor McGonagall had inexplicably appeared with a large crowd of Gryffindors in tow, all the professors had gone to search for Sirius Black. All students who had yet to leave the Great Hall had been ordered to remain there and wait for the all-clear signal.

The whole school had, of course, immediately sidled over to the only people in the room who had any idea what was going on.

Harry nodded. "Professor McGonagall thinks we might have to camp out down here for the next few days, now that our tower is not safe anymore. Peeves was positive that Sirius Black did it… He could be lying, but he never actually _lied_ before, right? That's what the professors thought, at least."

True, now that Blaise thought about it. For all the trouble Peeves went through to trick, mislead, and generally cause trouble, people generally trusted the poltergeist to maintain some semblance of truth when questioned outright - especially when questioned by the right people. "Then… Black is really here to try to do you in? All that nattering about security and danger – it's all true then? Salazar…"

They stared at each other. For the first time this year, they were properly scared. True, the general population had been freaking out about Sirius Black since the summer when he broke out. Even they had almost casually thrown around guesses about Black's homicidal tendencies in the Nocturne Group's not-lair - but _they_ had always believed in the back of their mind that it was just could-be's, erring-on-the-side-of-caution, or paranoia blowing things out of proportions. But now they had actual evidence of Black's presence and intentions, despite all the dementors and heightened security, and the professors still couldn't find him…

"Looks like it," Harry shrugged for a lack of better things to say. "But I don't get it… Why'd he try to break into our common room now, when he knew I'm probably going to be down here having dinner?"

"Trying to stage an ambush, maybe?" Daphne suggested, "I wonder what he was thinking, though. Did he think he could just march up to your entrance and demand to be let in? That would be stupid!"

"All we know is that the risk of Harry getting killed this year has increased," muttered Theo, "it's like the bucking broom incident all over again."

"I guess I should try not to go off alone, then?" Harry sighed, "Sirius Black… We know so little about him! All we know is that he used to be my dad's best friend but then he went bad. _Why? _Why did he do it? And he, what, blames me for his getting sent to Azkaban?"

The days that followed saw the Nocturne Group digging tirelessly in the modern history books and the old archives of the library to answer those questions. Blaise felt terrible for his friend. Harry seemed to be taking this ordeal fairly well, but to have a powerful and possibly deranged wizard out for your head, and being able to do nothing about it… True, they'd started training themselves in defence and duelling, but none of them were crazy enough to think they could actually take on someone of Black's calibre. All Harry could do, and all they could do for Harry, was read, research, and try to understand.

The research took a lot of time, but for something so important (it was a matter of a friend's life and death after all!) Blaise hardly cared. Even Terry and Anthony, who were as studious as the next Ravenclaw, gladly sacrificed the largest part of their weekends to the cause. If anything, the quest to find out what kind of madman was currently lurking about Hogwarts drew them even closer to the Nocturne Group's original five. Sometime Blaise could imagine that in ten years or so they, seven friends together, would be able to accomplish _anything_.

And he hoped to Salazar they could survive Sirius Black now. All seven of them.

* * *

The first weeks of November was… an interesting time, in Hermione's opinion.

After the portrait that guarded the Gryffindor common room had been damaged, it had been arranged that Hermione and her housemates would sleep in the Great Hall until further notice. And when such extreme countermeasures were taken, the attempted invasion of Gryffindor Tower certainly didn't go unnoticed. The whispered name of "Sirius Black" was on everyone's lips and took precedence over all other topics of gossip – even the upcoming "first Quidditch game of the year". Paranoia was abound, and some younger students could even be heard rehearsing what to say to beg for their lives. Fred and George planted a number of "Black traps" near the common room – which, despite their lack of success at stopping the wanted wizard, seemed to be doing a fairly good job at trapping just about everybody else. There were still some who doubted, but Hermione had later asked Peeves in private only to hear more or less the same message. Peeves had also told her quietly that Sirius Black had begged the portrait, insisting that he "isn't going to hurt any student" but "only wanted to punish the little git who was responsible". It was yet another puzzling piece of information in this whole Sirius Black business.

Nevertheless, some good did come of Sirius Black's revelation of his presence. Against the imminent threat, the bonds within the Nocturne Group consolidated all the more, and was well on the way to becoming something that would last long after they each make their way into the world. This was especially important. When she'd just started out she'd enabled the formation of this group as a way to influence her wayward students, but each member of the Nocturne Group had been drawn together for their potential. That, and their willingness to break the status quo. She could easily see each one of them becoming a leader in their field, and if they could stay together they could do so much more.

They could guide the magical society to move forward. Spearhead advances and changes for the better. Catalyze new paradigms of thoughts that were sometimes long overdue. A revolution, even... or maybe a reawakening of sorts.

In time, she would see to it that they were cultivated to their considerable potential.

But for now, Hermione followed them. She walked with them to the Room of Requirement for their regular Saturday duel, then to the library to research the infamous Ven. Mr. Black. Then down to the Great Hall for supper, then to the library again, and finally to the landing of the grand stairwell to bid each other goodnight. The loss of privacy in her sleeping area meant that she must modify her time turning schedule slightly and add a "bathroom trip" to her evening routine, but it was a marginal hindrance. The sleeping bags that Professor Dumbledore would conjure for them nightly were warm and adequately cushioned, though it was certainly not the most comfortable arrangement. Her trained instincts kept alerting her that the cocoon-like bag would lock her body in a vulnerable position.

Thankfully, she'd eventually managed to convince her subconscious that it was safe to fall asleep. After all, since no one - save perhaps certain goblins - really knew her history yet, the chances of something happening to her here among all these students was miniscule.

Her sleep that night was accompanied by fragmented dreams of towers and spyglasses…

* * *

"No, Severus, I will not assume the duty of the temporary guardian of Gryffindor Tower," said the Potion Master with the tiniest hint of a smirk, "I have no interest in opening doors for rambunctious children all day long, and I am already guarding a passage here."

Severus shrugged. "It was worth a try. All the other portraits are afraid of Sirius Black. The only one who agreed so far is Cadogan, and McGonagall has… reservations about him."

Yet another no. Severus privately thought that perhaps they should just hang Cadogan up and be done with it. The knight did seem to take the guarding of a tower against "scurvy curs" seriously enough, and the teachers would no longer have to take turns watching over students in the Great Hall nightly.

The Potion Master slid aside, and Severus ascended the narrow stairs to relieve Flitwick from his shift.

"Severus!" the charm professor almost bounced to the exit when he saw him, "All's well so far. No sign of Sirius Black, obviously. I'll be off now! Hopefully there hadn't been trouble in the Ravenclaw tower…"

A room full of sleeping students was no place for prolonged conversation, so Severus simply nodded and made his way through the rows of students toward his usual seat at the high table. Perhaps he'd light a dim flame and finish reading the latest publication from the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. There was no point attempting to fall asleep. He still found it amazing how anyone could sleep in one of those conjured purple sleeping bags…

He thought he'd felt something brush the hem of his robes.

Was that… a ward?

Severus looked down to see the top of Hermione Granger's face nestled behind the quilted fabric. He must've passed a little too close to her head when he turned the corner. A ward, Severus thought with some amusement.

It wasn't unusual for students to shield their sleeping spaces, he supposed. In fact, all Slytherins above year two were expected to ward their own bedrooms if they wanted a lockable space. But Severus thought even they probably wouldn't bother to ward a sleeping bag that would be gone the next morning.

Seeing no harm in it, Severus stooped down to move his hand through the air near her cranium. There was indeed a bubble-like shield – a tangible one against pressure and puncture, it seemed, though there could be others. From what he could see of it without waking her, it was quite decently cast.

And was that the tip of her wand just beneath the opening of the bag, partially covered by a tussle of curly hair? That crazy auror Moody would certainly approve of this one. Constant vigilance even as a third year, and not half bad at duelling either…

…?

_It just seems to me that there's something about her that makes her stand out, said Lupin._

Severus's brows furrowed subconsciously. He was loath to admit it, but he could somewhat agree with the wolf now.

It wasn't really anything that Severus could put his finger on - yet if one really thought about it, Hermione Granger was unusual in a multitude of little ways. Like going to sleep with the bedtime habits of a war veteran, although it was a general best practice, really. Like sustaining a duel with Severus for twenty minutes, although Severus _was_ holding back significantly. Like brewing commercial grade potions every class, although the ones they were currently studying were still fairly easy as long as one was careful. Like becoming good friends with three Slytherins despite being muggleborn, although she was hardly the first to do so.

And it was her friendship that catalysed a revolution in both Slytherin and Gryffindor house, although to be fair, that was mostly the work of luck and circumstances. The strength of Mr. Nott, Ms. Greengrass, Mr. Zabini and... Mr. Potter also couldn't be discounted. But it still stood that others either tried and failed or never let their associations see the light of day, while hers not only survived but _won_.

All of these unusual things combined together made for a not impossible, but highly improbable person.

Normally Severus would be reminding himself not to overanalyze, as he often had a tendency to do so. Yet, a small part of his mind was also reminding him that he was not alone in his curiosity…

But he really shouldn't be hovering over students in the middle of the night. It was creepy by anybody's standards. The magazine, then. He'd been trying to find time to read the article about a newly discovered property of asphodels since last week.

By the time he made it to the head table, Severus realized that he'd glanced back at the sleeping form of Miss Hermione 'Sally' Granger at least three more times.

Maybe he really had a mystery on his hands...

* * *

**A.N.: Mid-hiatus update XD**


	58. Year 3: Chapter 10

**AN: Just to clarify Sally's whole reincarnation business: Salazar and Hermione _are_ the same soul and the same person. Her situation can be most closely likened to someone who suffered total amnesia after a traumatic event and regained her memories after 11 years. She might've come to accept a new identity during those 11 years, but once that Hogwarts letter unlocked all her memories her thought patterns would reflect her past experiences as a 55 year old lord. **

**This is _not_ Salazar's soul possessing Hermione's body, and there definitely isn't a naïve little girl trapped up there in her head. Hope that helps reduce the confusion a bit :)**

**P.S.: Just another note, this is not an attempt to steer the pairings vote in any direction. Salazar was a fairly worldly man, but in this story his experience in the field of romance is actually quite lacking. As a result, when it comes to dating Sally has a blank ****(at least mostly) ****slate. **

**Anyways, on with Mid-hiatus Update #2!**

* * *

_'__Dear Tom, we __worked on the first draft for our project in the library again. Then I found a chapter in a book about something called "Dementors", and we got distracted for a while. Tom, did you know there are monsters out there that eat your soul?'_

**_'_****_I've read about them in my studies. When they catch very dangerous wizards, Azkaban sometimes sentence them to the Dementor's Kiss. It's a fancy name for getting your soul sucked out.'_**

_'__But what is a "soul", Tom? People talk about it all the time, but what is it really?'_

**_ '_****_From what I understand, your soul is the essence of who you are. Your body is really just a container that lets you interact with the world, but your soul is what's really you. It's the thing that can become ghosts when people die. So when dementors eat your soul, they've effectively killed you.'_**

_'__That sounds like a whole new way to die! Are there other things that can destroy your soul too?'_

**_'_****_Other things? Some people made guesses, but souls are very difficult to study. None of those are actually verified, you see. I'm sure there's nothing you'd need to worry about.'_**

_'__I'll just stay away from dementors, then. But apparently there's a way to defend against them, though. We looked them up today. The books say a wizard can drive them off with something called a patronus.'_

**_'_****_True. It's a charm that's made specifically for pushing away dementors, and takes the form of a silver animal figure.'_**

_'__Did you learn to cast it, Tom?'_

**_'_****_No – at least, not when I was in school. I've read that it's a very difficult spell. They don't even expect you to know it for NEWT.'_**

_'__Oh yes, I've read that most wizards can't cast a proper one. Some people can almost do it, though. Their patronus just comes out like a silver mist.'_

**_'_****_Well, I guess it would be better than nothing? Still better not to get a dementor after you at all, though.'_**

_'__That's true. I wouldn't want to meet one of them… Say, Tom, what happens to you if your soul gets damaged?'_

**_'_****_Well, like I said, without your soul you're effectively dead. I imagine your body would just lie there, heart beating and all but without anyone to give it commands. Well, until it eventually rots with time.'_**

_'__I see… Thanks, Tom! Goodnight!'_

**_'_****_Goodnight, Sally. Glad I could help.'_**

* * *

The weather had been frankly quite awful this November, and today was no exception. Thick storm clouds loomed overhead and bombarded the grounds below with fat, freezing raindrops, while whipping wind added to the effect. And then there were the dementors.

_'__At least they inspired a good conversation topic with Tom, my _dearest_ heir,' _Hermione thought. Currently, one of her hands was holding her binoculars up to her eyes. The other rested on the marble of the gallery that overlooked the Quidditch pitch, ready to call the vinewood wand in her sleeve on a moment's notice. The dementors seemed especially excited today, and hovered even closer to school grounds than usual. With her lenses she could even make out the tattered trail of their robes and their claw-like limbs.

Below, perhaps due to dementor influence, the enthusiasm of the crowd gathered to watch the first Quidditch match of the year seemed to be dampened somewhat. Still, the Gryffindor captain Wood had been ramping up the anticipation by griping about his "last year to win the Cup" for weeks. On the Slytherin side, (very accurate) rumours had it that a new game plan was in the works – although any further details naturally remained undisclosed. But whatever it was, it was big enough that even Theo had chosen to sit out in the stands today rather than from their usual window. She could see him and the rest of the Nocturne Group among a mixed group of Slytherins and Ravenclaws.

The stands filled, and the cheering continued.

"WELCOME TO THE MOMENT WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!" Lee's magically amplified voice yelled from across the field, although it had to try quite hard to compete with the whooshing of wind. Moments later, the two teams all but struggled into the middle of the field where the two captains shook hands. And Hermione once again marvelled at the sheer dedication people were willing to devote to a sport.

At least none of them seemed to be getting overly wet. The Nocturne Group had practiced the waterproofing spell, _impervius_, extensively just last week after Anthony had developed an appreciation for the spectacle created by an overpowered _aguamenti_. She assumed that at least some of the older students would know the charm well enough to cast it for their teammates.

"And the game has begun, with GRYFFINDOR IN POSSESSION! Bell passes to Spinnet, who passes back to Bell – but she's got to watch out, because Flint is on her tail and closing in! Spinnet passes to Johnso – BUT MALFOY WAS IN THE WAY! THE QUAFFLE BOUNCES OFF MALFOY'S SHOULDER!"

Something that sounded like a cheer floated through the howling wind as the Quaffle dropped down several meters into Adrian Pucey's waiting hands.

"Pucey races down the court. Johnson and Bell hurry to intercept from above, and they're catching up!" But just then, a green missile in the form of Draco Malfoy shot across their path, forcing the girls to swerve up to avoid a collision. "Pucey flips the Quaffle up – SLYTHERIN SCORES!"

"Montague in possession, and passes to Flint – and meanwhile Malfoy seems to be hell bent on disrupting the Gryffindor formation!" Lee continued to comment. Indeed, while Harry circled above and peered intently for the Snitch, Draco was weaving in and out through the other players. "Now believe it or not, ladies and gentlemen, this is actually a legal move. And if Malfoy's doing what I think he's doing, I'd say Slytherin is trying to replicate the monumental but extremely unorthodox World Cup victory by the Irish in 1894! But does Malfoy think he can pay enough attention to the Snitch at the same time?"

Hermione scanned the stands, noticing happily that this was turning out to be the most peaceful Quidditch game she'd seen since arriving in first year. There was plenty of shouting as always among the audiences, but no jeering, boos, or thumb-downs. The Slytherin team in turn seemed to change strategies from calculated rule breaking to more subtly using the rules to their advantage. And the commentary was almost unbiased for once!

Then the crowd gasped, and Hermione realized that Harry had entered a deep dive. "And WAS THAT THE SNITCH?" Lee shouted.

"Potter dives, but Malfoy is quick to follow! He's almost caught up now – faster, Potter!"

Draco was nearly at the tail of Harry's broom now. Both Seekers' expressions were set to one of concentration. As they were nearing the grass Draco's eyes widened, and he started to ease out of the dive. Harry turned sharply upwards half a second later.

_'__Huh?' _Hermione frowned, before realizing what probably happened. Really, she was quite proud of them both. Even with her limited knowledge of Quidditch, it was clear that Draco had improved dramatically from last year. Clearly he'd put in a lot of time and effort to train his skills even during the summer – a far stretch from the snooty kid he was in first year. Meanwhile, Harry was being positively devious today as well…

"Wait. Why did they both pull back? Had the Snitch – Oh! THERE WAS NO SNITCH, ladies and gentlemen! What you've just witnessed was a spectacular demonstration of the Wronski Feint by Potter! Fooled us all, he did! But it seems Malfoy saw through the game just in time!"

The cheering only grew louder as the match continued. Harry had resumed his search for the Snitch. Meanwhile, the Malfoy heir grinned a little – not a smirk, but a true, proud smile – before returning to his zigzag through the Chasers' game as well. But every once in a while, one of them would break routine and Lee would hasten to guess if the Snitch had appeared for real or otherwise. Before long, Draco had nearly maneuvered Harry into the path of a Bludger twice, and Harry had nearly made Draco crash into the Slytherin beater. Twice Harry had taken off in pursuit of the Snitch with Draco scrambling to catch up on the other side of the field, but both times the Snitch got away in a flash of gold among the haze of the rain.

In the end, it was pure chance that both Seekers spotted the tiny golden ball at the same time. It was in the center of the field, and they immediately dove toward it from opposite sides. Harry was just a tad faster, but Draco was just a bit closer. The rest of the players clearly had to fight the urge to stop and watch as the two Seekers closed in, arms stretched as far as they could –

Harry's hand closed around the Snitch, while Draco's fingers fell just short of brushing its wings.

"INCREDIBLE! It was an extremely, extremely close race, but Potter caught the Snitch!" Lee announced breathlessly as Harry raised his hand in victory. "But it seems Malfoy's disruptions had paid off - Despite Gryffindor's Seeker bonus, Slytherin's tremendous lead of 160 to 10 means that… the match is tied? THE MATCH IS TIED, after a stunning Seeker's battle almost like in the professional games! Gryffindor and Slytherin come out of the match with 160 points each!"

Down in the stands, the audience was ecstatic. People chanted a plethora of things while Harry flew over to Madam Hooch for her to verify that he touched the Snitch first. But as she scanned the scene below through her lenses, Hermione suddenly felt an uneasy premonition. She was neglecting something, something bad… and it was about to happen soon -

Even as she finished the thought, the sky darkened impossibly. And hundreds of dementors poured _onto _the Quidditch Pitch.

Her wand was out in an instant, half concealed in her sleeve and half gripped tightly in her hand. Her mind raced through ways to help the students below without revealing her patronus. She _begged _in her head for Dumbledore, who she knew was in the stands, to drive off the dementors before anyone could come to permanent harm. She was fairly sure he'd handle the situation, but if this went on she'd eventually have to do it regardless. _'A spell that plunges the field into total, impenetrable darkness should conceal it, though a dark spell like that would make Dumbledore suspicious for sure…'_

The cheering quickly gave way to terrified screams. But though they surely revelled in it, the dementors seemed to drift closer and closer to a single person in the sky. Harry. Beside him, Madam Hooch looked ready to fall off her broom herself.

Harry's mouth formed the words "Expecto Patronum!", producing a wisp of smoke that held the dementors back for about three seconds. But fortunately by then Dumbledore's silver phoenix had appeared, and the dementors dispersed with the looming darkness. Harry and Madam Hooch shakily drifted to the ground, where the rest of the team had fled to when sky first began to dim. Hermione calmed her own heartbeat and slid her wand back into its holster.

Crisis averted, it seemed.

She'd better head for the hospital wing then – they'd take Harry and Madam Hooch there just to be safe, she presumed. The Headmaster had stormed off the pitch to have a word with the dementors, but he'd probably check on Harry when he returns as well. Really, she'd deduced that Harry was taking some sort of lesson with Lupin, but she hadn't expected him to manage to cast a patronus already. Harry probably had a talent for maintaining high mental focus, then. _'Not a bad skill to have. It would make him less susceptible to spells like imperio and confundus and maybe even obliviate. Though it might give him a bit of trouble with Occulumency - '_

Wait. She thought she saw… Or was it just nerves? Hermione kept walking. The hall appeared to be empty now, so it would seem that she was mistaken.

But if someone really had been watching her, then all the more reason to act as if she didn't know. They'd make themselves known soon enough.

* * *

Severus quickly flattened himself against the wall of the little alcove he'd been standing in – taking care to ensure that he would not be visible from the window or the hall. He did _not _want to be seen and accused of spying on a thirteen-year-old.

Fortunately, _not getting caught while spying _was an art he'd mastered quite thoroughly.

He'd merely been absentmindedly passing through at first. He'd never kept up really well with all the Quidditch games, although he did give the scoreboard a quick glance to see how the Slytherin team was doing. Then he'd spotted _that girl_, and before he knew it he'd already settled himself five windows down the hall.

In Severus's defence, he hadn't been watching Hermione Granger the entire time. He only leaned out to glance at her once in a while, reading her expression and gauging her reaction, in between watching Potter and Malfoy's odd battle of trickery (or strategy, he supposed). She'd clearly followed the game, but she'd seemed mildly pleased throughout the entire game despite Gryffindor's low score count. No matter who scored, no matter what the seekers happened to be doing at the time, the small smile on her lips had never grown or diminished.

Strange. Severus would almost say she didn't care at all about the outcome of the match, or even which house would win the House Cup. Even Severus, who was the definition of apathy when it came to Quidditch, used to feel at least somewhat happier when Slytherin won and slightly disappointed when Slytherin lost while he was in school. Even now, he'd felt a slight relief when he saw that the goals that Slytherin team scored made up for losing the Snitch – although it could've nearly been a landslide victory, which would've been great too.

And then the dementors had moved in. Severus had thought at first that perhaps they'd spotted Black nearby – but then he'd gradually realized that they seemed to be drawn to Potter instead. He'd drawn his wand, his doe patronus beginning to form at its tip, but then he saw that Dumbledore had already driven them off. No need to butt in and draw attention to himself, then.

But when he glanced at Granger again, she was putting away her wand (up her sleeve, an interesting choice) as well. Her expression seemed to be sliding from one of tensed concentration into one that was somewhat relaxed and more introspective. Severus also saw concern, curiosity (?), and plenty of relief.

_'__But not fear, not panic…' _At least, from the glimpse of her face he'd caught just a fraction of a second before her features shifted. _'I can almost say her face looked more in line with a hitwizard before a kill than a terrified spectator.' _

But that, coupled with the drawing of her wand, would make a huge difference… Did Granger believe she could actually do something to help keep the hundreds of dementors off her friend?

Severus didn't know what to think.

* * *

Remus breathed a sigh of relief when the dementors scattered into the slowly clearing sky. Why in Salazar's name did they go after a student? That was _entirely_ unsanctioned!

He zeroed in on Harry with his binoculars, hurriedly checking the long-suffering boy over. He was shivering and looked terribly pale as he slowly guided his broom downward, but fortunately he appeared to be alert. _'He did it! He actually managed to cast a patronus in front of dementors!' _Remus had tried to help, but to his shame he'd been so overwhelmed by the sight of hundreds of dementors surrounding the last connection he had to his old friends that the patronus wouldn't come for a moment. It was lucky that Albus was here. Once again, the Headmaster had managed do what no one else could.

As he followed Harry's movement downward, however, Remus saw something – or rather, someone. Severus was looming over one of the open arches in the gallery that ran between the towers. He, too, was looking at Harry, but his eyes kept flickering to the side in an odd way. Curious, Remus traced his gaze along the gallery… _'Hermione Granger?'_

_'__Had Severus been watching her? He had, hadn't he? What's going on here?'_

Remus had rushed down to the field to help take Harry and Madam Hooch to the hospital wing after that. But once he returned to his office to catch up on grading papers, the question just kept lingering in his mind. Finally, Remus decided to go down to the dungeons and catch Severus before supper.

"Enter - Ah, it's you. Well, what is it? I'd have thought that Dumbledore or McGonagall would floo call me if they wanted to fetch me for something."

A part of him yelled that it was an awful idea.

_'__But I have a right to ask. Any student in this castle is my concern as well!'_

"Er, no… I have a question for you, Severus. I saw you at the Quidditch match today. Why were you – ah, studying Miss Granger so closely?" Damn, that sounded wrong. "Er, I mean –"

Severus's head swivelled to face him so quickly that it was a small wonder he didn't break his neck. "Says the one who has been interrogating all the professors about her."

Remus fought the urge to drop his gaze to his shoes. He will _not _be chastised by Severus.

But instead of attacking him further, Severus merely stood and paced to the window to stare into the inky depth of the Black Lake. The water outside was especially turbid today because of the storm, Remus noticed. "I think you're correct, Lupin. There _is_ something about Hermione Granger that's not like the other students. We're the only ones who notice."

_'__So it's true, that strange gut feeling!' _"But I have no idea what."

"And neither do I."

"So what now? Should we ask Albus?"

"Do _you _want to do the honour of explaining why we're so extraordinarily interested in a third-year? No, we inform Albus only if there's a security risk."

"A security risk! Surely you don't think –"

"I didn't say I think there is one. I was merely expressing that it would be pointless to take this to Dumbledore at least as things stand. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm heading up for supper. Unless you wish to stay around in my office by yourself –"

And with that, Severus swept out of the room, leaving Remus to follow in his wake with equal measures of newfound clarity and confusion.

* * *

**AN: ****So since the whole Buckbeak thing didn't happen, Slytherin didn't have a ready excuse to postpone the match. Instead they just went ahead and played.**

**Meanwhile, since Harry was less distracted by the rain, he noticed the snitch just _before _the dementors came. And he started training earlier so he was able to fend off the dementors about as well as he could at the end of the book in canon.**

**I don't know if I said it before, but I really appreciate all your reviews! They always make my day. Thank you very much :)**

**A note on why characters seem to say "Salazar" a lot, in case it's confusing people: ****So people in the magical society have a tendency to swear by the names of famous ancient people (e.g. Merlin). I'm imagining that since there's a whole series of "Merlin swears", Salazar's name might be used in the same fashion. Except people would yell "Merlin!" in the context of happy surprises (e.g. "Merlin's beard! I won a pile of gold!") but "Salazar!" for less pleasant stuff (e.g. "How in Salazar's name did they find so many Dementors to attack us?")... It's a bit of a running joke for me :) Not that funny, I know, but I just can't help it lol**


	59. Year 3: Chapter 11

_'__Dear Tom, today was pretty sunny, and the sky was the purest shade of blue.'_

**_'_****_Ah, yes. The view from the Ravenclaw common room must be great. You lot are lucky to have claimed the second tallest tower in the school.'_**

_'__Oh yes, Tom! On clear days like this, you can see everything - the rolling meadows, the dark forest, the shimmering lake and all. It almost feels like the whole world – every corner of it - is laid out before you.'_

**_'_****_With nothing above and everything else so small beneath your feet, right? I can imagine that. It's the best feeling there is. I think some of the muggles would say this is what God would see every day.'_**

_'__It must be great to be him, then.' _

**_'_****_Exactly.'_**

_'__My project is almost complete now, and I think it's going to turn out brilliantly. I don't think I've ever felt so proud. We considered so many different angles, and I'm almost positive we included things that no one else thought of! Gloria can't wait to hand it in. She's a bit impatient at times, but Henry always manages to calm her down. Rowley doesn't care as much – just put him in a library and he'll be happy.'_

**_'_****_I'm sure you did great, Sally. It sounds like you worked harder on this project than anybody else would.' _**

_'__Of course, how can we not do well, with all your help? Thanks again, Tom.'_

**_'It was my pleasure. Anything to help a friend.'_**

_'Oh, you're the BEST! Goodnight, Tom!'_

**_'_****_Goodnight, Sally.'_**

* * *

Hermione's book, _'Journal of a Wandering Mage'_, didn't appear on the shelves of Flourish and Blotts until the very end of November. Since then, however, it had been making slow but steady progress into the hands of the population. "I'm thinking about getting that book for my son for Christmas. He loves the adventure stories. Ah, but who can blame him? He's a curse breaker in training now," said Mary happily as the small crew at The Silver Spindle hustled to ready the shop for the winter shopping season. Demand for ball gowns had already gone up, after all.

"Is it any good?" Asked Timothy from behind a large sheet of floating velvet that was in the process of rolling itself up.

"Oh yes, I've only skimmed through the first chapter at the bookstore and I'm already hooked." Mary assured, carefully dressing the female mannequin in the display window in a sleek, silver gown that shimmered like snakeskin. "You know what, I think Joseph won't mind if his Mum takes a read-through first."

Mary winked, and Timothy chuckled. "I might see about getting it for my daughter too, then. She's always complaining about getting bored of her old books."

"Well, there's only so many times you can read _'Babbity Rabbity' _, y'know? Now what should tomorrow's weather be? _'Thunderstorm'_ or _'Misty night'_? Or maybe _'Starry sky'_?"

"_'__Misty night'_ I think. We seem to be going for smoke and mirror with this pair," 'Sandra Homer' finished adjusting the billowing black ensemble around the male mannequin's shoulders. The simulated ambience in the display window was a modified and scaled down version of the enchantment in Hogwarts' Great Hall. She was glad she had that stroke of inspiration last month. It worked wonders in attracting the attention of passers-by on slow days.

"_'__Misty night' _it is, then," Mary turned the knob. The display window immediately dimmed, and thin grey smoke slowly began to swirl around the two figures. "What are you getting your kids, Sandra? How old are they again?"

_'My what? Oh...Let's see...' _"My little boy flew the nest just last year."

Saying _that _out loud felt _so _weird. And she hadn't even thought about what her imaginary son should have a passion for yet…

But _'Sandra Homer' _would be expected to gush about her cozy home and loving marriage. _'Sandra Homer' _had to be a doting mother of sweet, angelic children. So _'Sandra Homer' _kept up a wide smile and rambled. "_Much_ too early, if you ask me. But a boy – no, _young adult_, he _insists_ \- wants his independence, so what can you do? But my niece – well, second cousin-once-removed, really - is still going to school, and she's like a daughter to me."

"Does she also go to Hogwarts?" Timothy asked, "My daughter's in first year, Hufflepuff. Maybe they've met each other."

"Ah, maybe in the halls. My niece is in third year, Gryffindor."

"I know, I know, dear," Mary patted her arm, "We parents always hate to see our children go. Ah, it's inevitable, I guess. But aren't they just the sweetest little dears when they're younger?"

That sounded like most of Helga and Godric's letters... "Ah, yes. Some up and downs occasionally, but absolutely sweet overall. Say, I wonder how kids will react to our new display."

Mary turned back to examine the display window, but Timothy chose this moment to joined them as well. "No truer words. Some days they keep you up at night and make your hair go grey, but when they run to you and say, 'Daddy, I love you _this_ much,' it's all worth it."

Alice sighed, with just the slightest undertone of wistfulness. "I want a family like yours,"

Hermione fought the growing urge to duck her head. Never had she felt so much as if she was intruding on something she had no place in, save once! 'Sandra' would have no problem showering Alice with her sympathies, along with copious, meaningful advices. But Hermione was drawing blanks. Could this conversation get any more awkward?

"Well, you're still twenty-five," Mary said comfortingly, "There's plenty of time! I didn't meet my dear Winston until I was twenty-seven. You'll find the one for you in no time."

_'__Come on, Sal. Just respond as Helga would!'_ "Oh, for certain, my dear. Everyone finds love eventually."

"Exactly," agreed Timothy, "fortune can be a bitch sometimes, but I'm sure it's not so unkind as to deny us poor mortals a bit of companionship."

"You really think so?" Asked Alice.

"Of course! Things always sort themselves out." It was clearly what she expected to hear. _'And I bet she's already getting pretty serious with someone, and she's getting impatient for him to pop the question. That's probably what brought on all this drama in the first place...'_

"Well, I do have a boyfriend. We've been together for three years. But these days I'm not sure if he's the one for me anymore. Well, I mean, I know I love _him_, but I don't know if he feels the same about _me_ anymore. See, three years and he hasn't said anything about wanting to start a family with me yet. Isn't that weird? I mean…"

_'..And there we go.'_

As Alice vented her concerns to Mary's sympathetic ear, Hermione took the next opportunity to excuse herself and apparated back to Hogwarts. Honestly, sometimes she felt as if the people she worked with were of a different world entirely, and she was one of those imposter from the muggle alien movies.

Which was technically true in many ways, she supposed. The switching from avatar to avatar, interacting with each group of people through a skin crafted for the purpose, sounded exactly like what she'd been doing.

Esmeralda was not in, and seemed to be in the antechamber holding court for the other serpents. Her portrait was off somewhere more interesting as well, probably either watching the dungeon entrance or eavesdropping in the headmaster's office. Alone under the high, vaulted ceiling of her stone underground Chamber, Hermione stripped away the heavily padded 'Sandra' disguise and chucked it unceremoniously into a corner. Then she drew up a bath for herself in the adjacent room - a tub of black marble that was more than spacious, then and now. She suddenly didn't feel like returning to her _fellow_ students just yet. Call it procrastination, but the inviting warmth of the water against her skin was such a welcomed luxury. She even found herself vaguely wishing, in that moment, that she could sit in its soothing embrace forever.

Thin tendrils of white steam drifted lazily around her, gliding over her bare shoulders like phantoms, and she was reminded of the display window she'd just decorated.

What she'd heard today in Diagon Alley was highly favourable. Her book was gathering interest, and was being considered for the upcoming gift-buying season as hoped. Meanwhile, The Silver Spindle itself was becoming quite well-known. Even today they'd tailored and charmed three dress gowns for two clients with fairly prominent family names, one upon recommendation from his friend. Hermione could safely expect a number of the Spindle's creations to appear at the Yule dinner parties this year.

Stone by stone, step by step, she would raise herself back to the height at which she once stood. Her financial progress was substantial, and her social influence expanding. She had already fixed much of the legacy of her first life, but she still fully intended to make history a second time.

Meanwhile, she had learned much about her troublesome hazard of an 'heir'. Voldemort believed in full self-reliance. Dependence on anything other than one's own power, like the two squirrels sharing body heat, was a weakness. He dabbled in soul craft but had little regard for the health of the soul, at least partly due to scepticisms about soul theories. Instead, he was _very _concerned about physical death to the point where he would devote large amounts of energy to remove anything that may cause his own, scepticisms or not. He had a clear god complex coupled with a disturbing lack of morals. And he was surprisingly sentimental for some reason. This information should aid her greatly in the eradication of his person, his power base, and his influence upon the magical world. The next step would be to find out how exactly he'd intended for this horcrux to manipulate a student. Let him "win", reveal an opportunity for possession, and see what he does. And then the diary would've served its purpose.

And finally, the new generation of wizards and witches was shaping up to be quite promising. In her mind's eye she could see the Nocturne Group as the tip of a spearhead, one that was gradually sharpening with guidance. Already their influence radiated outward, drawing in others who offered either strength or support. She had little doubt that once this spear launches into the world, it would make big waves in the right direction.

Yet she was getting that strange feeling again… Feeling, dream, image, whatever...

What exactly _was_ it that she was missing? Just what hidden pitfall, or concealed threat, or critical action had she neglected, whose impact on her future success warranted so much warning from her subconscious?

The question followed her to her bed – er, sleeping bag - that night in the form of those familiar dreams of towers and spyglasses, and then to the breakfast table the next morning.

Whatever it was, it must be something in the tangled web of circumstances surrounding Lupin, the Marauders, and Black, mustn't it? It had to be - it was the only unsolved mystery she'd encountered, right? Somewhere in that mess was a dire threat to short term safety, then? If Voldemort was involved, it was not impossible.

But this meant that unravelling the mystery must now move higher in her list of objectives. The Nocturne Group had researched Sirius Black for over a month now, and she could see them becoming increasingly frustrated by the lack of information. It turned out that despite his infamy, available records of Mr. Black were pitiably scarce. "Possible sightings" of Black was plenty, but descriptions of his criminal history in circulation was vague and, aside from warning the public that he was a very dangerous mass murderer and an ardent supporter of You-know-who, provided no additional information. No testimonials of grieving victims were found, although the determined researchers did discover plenty attributed to his cousin Bellatrix Lestrange. A search for the proceedings of his trial before incarceration turned up nothing. In fact, prior to his escape from Azkaban, the only negative mention of Black in the papers that they'd discovered was a short statement of his arrest – and even that was crowded into a tiny side column by the joyous news of Voldemort's defeat on the same day.

The Nocturne Group had been surprised by the fruitlessness of their search, and upon discussion decided that much of the business was probably being kept confidential for either some ongoing auror investigation or some personal gains. If that was the case, then they'd better find a different way of finding information, as the public domain would probably only disappoint.

"Sally!" Two voices interrupted her thoughts in unison. Looking up, Hermione soon found herself accosted by the Weasley twins. Her mind elsewhere still, she greeted Fred and George with the standard "good morning" and started to turn back to her plate. But then she saw their unusually serious and determined faces, and paused.

They wanted something, it seemed.

"Mum saw the poster for your book in Diagon Alley last week," Fred said, "congratulations."

"Thanks, guys. I do hope people will like it."

"On that note, we actually wanted to ask you for a favour, Sally," said George, "See, Fred and I feel that we've sponsored Gambol and Japes and Zonko's for too long. We're going to start a joke shop of our own and sell our own products."

"But it's going to take money," Fred continued earnestly, "We can't get a loan from Gringotts, because Mum will just chew us out for the whole idea. So we were hoping that you could, well, lend us some to start off. We'll pay you back as soon as we make money, promise!"

"We-ell…" As another side effect of having income under her own name, Hermione was gradually becoming pegged in the school as the kid with the most pocket money. As far as her classmates were concerned she surpassed perhaps even Malfoy, who would still have to run his slightly larger purchases by his parents first. So far this recognition had shown up mainly in the form of several people declaring an increased expectation for Christmas gifts, but this was something new. "Have you developed any products?"

"Not yet, but we have a bunch of ideas. If we can get some fund, we'll be able to buy supplies this Christmas break and start prototyping right away."

"How much do you think you'll need?"

Fred and George looked at each other. "Well, the supplies would probably take about two hundred galleons, and the smallest storefront cost at least five hundred..."

"I can probably afford to give you one hundred galleons if you can meet me sometime during the holiday in Diagon Alley to collect it. We can see about giving you more by the end of the year," Hermione offered. One hundred galleon was a fairly optimistic estimate of royalties she could make before Yule, but that was alright. She would not lament its loss too much even if she'd gravely misjudged the twins' chances. "But I'll want a ten percent share of your future profits instead of my original one hundred galleons back."

They considered. "Five percent," George said, "and we'll show you the secret to our success at undetected mischief making in our whole career as pranksters at this school. Come on! We know you'd put it to good use. Don't pretend you aren't tempted!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. They were going to show her the Marauders' map of the school? "Ten percent, you show me this 'secret to your success', and I'll show you a spell I've read about. It'll let you get away with buying most of your non-magical supplies only once and save a lot of money." Besides, she knew they were probably ready to accept anyways.

"Deal," Fred agreed.

Hermione shook hands with both Weasley brothers, and taught them the spell called _geminio. _"With this spell you can replicate a non-magical item as many times as you want. A piece of sweet, for example. But take care, because edible things will still go stale."

"Aw, I've already heard of a spell like that! I just didn't know what it is!" Fred complained.

"And I already know you have a way of telling where people are in the castle," Hermione shrugged.

"What?! How did you - bloody little know-it-all..."

"Anyways, behold!" Fred declared, and produced a blank parchment under the table. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

"We found it in Filch's drawer when we were in detention once," George whispered. "It's a map of the school that shows the name and location of everyone in the castle. Splendid, huh? And it has all the secret passages, too! Well, maybe not all. You disappear from the map sometimes, Sally."

"I know two passages that are not on here," Hermione admitted. _'And a couple more too, but who's counting, right?' _"Oh, but I didn't know there's one that goes to Honeydukes! And what's this one here?"

"Don't try it. The Whomping Willow's on the other end."

Suddenly, Hermione's eyes caught on a name in the Gryffindor tower. Everyone else had gone down for breakfast by now, but this person still remained in the boys' dormitory. "Who's still in bed at this hour?"

Fred gave a surprised laugh. "You don't know Peter Pettigrew? But he's in your class, Sally! Look, this is the third year boys' dormitory."

"But I'm not surprised you don't notice him much," George shrugged, "he skips class all the time. Lazier than Ron, if you ask me."

Hermione frowned. She didn't consider herself a social butterfly, but she didn't think she was so neglectful as to completely ignore the existence of a classmate for three years.

But it was only later that day, while using one of the castle's secret passages, that she realized why Pettigrew's name was so strange to her, and discovered something extremely ...interesting .

Whoever this Peter Pettigrew was, he was on the Marauder's Map but not on her own.

* * *

"There, see? She's disappeared again."

Remus followed Severus around the corner. Sure enough, the hall was empty.

Remus could swear, on his father's grave, that he and Severus hadn't been following Hermione Granger around the school. It was merely that they now paid more attention whenever they chanced to see her in the halls. Especially after they realized that they'd somehow managed to "lose" her in an unbranched hallway more than once.

"One of your secret passages?" Severus asked.

"There's nothing in this hallway." And he remembered the Marauders combing this particular hallway for secret entrances very carefully for its, er… strategic location.

So either Hermione found passages that the Marauders spent years searching for, somehow was able to disillusion herself _perfectly_ and for some unknown reason, or simply vanished. None of the three seemed within the capabilities of a third-year student. Or a student in general. Or most wizards and witches, come to think of it.

_'__This is evidence, then.' _For the first time, there was something solid than confirmed his gut feeling. Something beyond speculations and merely somewhat _unusual _occurrences. He knew there had to be something about her, something _big_.

Now the question was, _what_?

* * *

**AN: I'm back with another update :)**

**You might've noticed that a portion of the diary segment of the previous chapter has been shuffled to this chapter. I think it fits a little better here.**

**Next update will probably be in three weeks. In the meantime, if you haven't seen it yet, feel free to check out my other story, The Makings of Legends! It's a collection of mini-scenes about the Founders that didn't fit into this story XD**


	60. Year 3: Chapter 12

**AN: I think I might've confused myself last chapter. Sally, at this point, is not aware that Voldy made more than one horcrux.**

* * *

_'__Dear Tom, we finally handed in our Red Cap project today. Rowley, Henry, Gloria and I all but skipped down the halls in celebration! I'm so glad we had this project. It's really brought the four of us together, and I think we've become great friends. Oh, but what should I get everyone for Christmas? Gloria might like a broom servicing kit, although that's got to cost a fortune. I'll get Rowley books, definitely. And for Henry, I think… maybe sweets? Or a planter? I can't wait to go to Diagon Alley!"_

**_'_****_I'm… well… I guess I'm glad you're happy, Sally.'_**

_'__Oh, Tom… Don't be sad! You're special, and I won't ever forget you, promise!'_

**_'_****_I'm very happy to hear that, Sally. You won't… throw me away like Ginny did, right?'_**

_'__Never, Tom! I need you. No one can replace you, I promise!'_

**_'_****_Thank you, Sally! And how was the rest of your day…'_**

* * *

After the discovery of the mysterious name Peter Pettigrew on the Marauder's Map, Hermione ended up spending much time pondering his identity. It seemed like she now had a second mystery on her hands. A search of the school records from the Room of Requirements did turn up a former student with mediocre grades and a long list of detention records. Yet, all students – present or former – should appear on her map once they enter school grounds, but Pettigrew did not.

Why was Pettigrew tracked by the Marauder's Map but not hers? Had the Marauders included a separate set of tracking spells in their creation, then? Had "Pettigrew" simply been a prank, a name placed there to confuse future pranksters?

And disregarding the prank theory, how did Pettigrew manage to stay in the third year dormitory? He certainly was not a current student, yet he must've moved up through the dormitories with the third year boys if the twins thought he was in her class. Obviously none of his "dorm mates" noticed him all this time, or he would've been reported long ago. Was he invisible?

But it was very nearly Yule before she gained any headway toward this mystery.

It turned out that the last Saturday before students depart for Yule was to be a Hogsmeade visit. Some storefronts were decorated so flamboyantly that Hermione wondered if the shopkeeps had received a heads-up from the professors. But whatever they did, it seemed to be working. The children were beyond thrilled.

"Is anybody staying at school this winter?" Harry asked as the Nocturne Group seven took a grand tour through Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

Blaise, Daphne, and Theo shook their heads.

"I think I will this year," said Terry, "I have to catch up on some reading. What about you, Sally?"

In the past two years Hermione had opted to stay at school. Now, however, to stay would probably mean to contend with Professor Lupin and Professor Snape's watchful eyes. "I'm going home," Hermione declared. Although, she did not say which.

"I'll be going home too," Anthony, who had been attempting to tickle her with the plume of a particularly large flamingo feather quill, paused. "Dad wants the whole family to spend the holiday with my grandparents in Canada."

"A vacation, brilliant! My Mum's taking me to Italy too," said Blaise, "but we'll pop back for the parties, of course."

"How many balls are you lot going to this time?" Harry wondered.

"Let's see… Malfoy's holding one, as always. There's also Avery's this year, and Gaius invited us personally so we might as well go." Daphne ticked her fingers, "And my Mum's hosting this winter too, but she hardly lets me invite anybody our age so I don't even know if there's any point in me showing up."

"Actually, Daphne… Madam LeBlanc mentioned something about introducing me to some people during the holidays. I think she means to bring me along to your family's party as her guest. Would that be alright?" Might as well mention this now. That she was on friendly terms with Madam Greengrass's daughter had been part of the reason why the hard-faced editor dared to invite her, after all.

"That would be brilliant, Sally! And here I thought I'd have to hide upstairs all evening," Daphne sighed dramatically. "Anthony, if you actually end up buying that ludicrous thing you will drop in my esteem like a drunk elf!"

"Of course I'm buying this!" Anthony waved the pink quill merrily, "Guess what your Yule present's going to be. Now, where's the shopkeep…"

Blaise took one look at the line-up and suggested that some of them might as well find a booth in the Three Broomsticks while they wait. And so, Harry, Blaise, and Theo were elected to go and try to get them a table for seven, while Hermione, Daphne, and Terry were left to try to talk Anthony out of getting the quill (unsuccessfully). "But Sally, you might actually get famous from this – at least here at Hogwarts" observed Anthony as they left with his purchase, "The whole school must know about your book now after that poster in front of Tomes and Scrolls. Especially since everybody already knows your name from what happened… you know, last year."

The girl who got trounced by Snape at the duelling club, right.

"It's a pity the duelling club never started up again this year. Guess they're just too busy watching out for Black," sighed Terry. "That's one more reason to wish for Black to be dealt with as soon as possible. But at least we're learning pretty well for ourselves."

"Yeah, and we're already doing the best we can for both of those things," Daphne nodded. "C'mon, let's see if they managed to find a table yet."

But when they arrived at the Three Broomsticks, their friends were waiting for them at the door. They had not gotten a booth, they declared, but they'd got something much better.

"Information!" Blaise revealed happily, "Would you believe when we walked in, the first thing we heard was Fudge telling Rosmerta about Sirius Black?"

"The minister's here?" asked Terry.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, and they were sitting near the door, and there wasn't a chance in hell we'd let this go, so we pretended we were just waiting for some friends to come out and hung around to listen. We had to come back out or they'd notice us."

"We finally have details on Mr. Black's crimes!" Theo elaborated in a low, excited voice, "The Minister said Harry's parents were under a ward called the Fidelius Charm, a spell that was supposed to hide their home from You-Know-Who as long as the one person they chose as secret keeper didn't snitch. They made Black their secret keeper."

"Three guesses what he did with that privilege," Blaise chuckled humourlessly.

"And that's not all!" Harry added, "Remember how your parents said Black blasted his other best friend to smithereens? He knew about the Fidelius plan, and went to confront Black as soon as he heard what happened to my parents! But Black just killed him and laughed! They caught him at the scene, and Minister saw the damage himself. It was awful!"

"He really is deranged, then," Anthony frowned with worry, "Who in Salazar's name _blasts_ people to death? Even a cutting curse would've been cleaner, and just as effective!"

"He must've done it because he enjoyed it, I guess," Theo reasoned, "the Minister said there was a giant crater in the middle of the street and blood everywhere!"

"And the biggest piece of Peter Pettigrew they could find was a finger!"

_'…__What?' _Peter Pettigrew was dead?

"This Peter Pettigrew is…?" Hermione ask. She needed to clarify.

"My dad's other best friend. The one who was killed by Black in the middle of a muggle street."

"I see…"

"So what do we know now? Black was secret keeper," Harry mused, "which means for sure that he intentionally let You-Know-Who know where my parents were."

"Unless You-Know-Who figured out a way to break the Fidelius," Theo interjected. "But that's probably unlikely, even for him."

"And we know that Black is a sadist," Terry added, "and he was arrested for killing a wizard and how many muggles?"

"The Minister said it was very hard to count," muttered Blaise.

_'__More interestingly, Pettigrew is apparently dead. But he has been seen on the Marauder's Map for the past two and a half years. But he doesn't appear on mine, which connects fully to the castle wards.' _One explanation would be that Peter had returned to the school as a ghost, since his soul and magic would have then been too altered for the school wards to trace. The other ghosts – Baron Edmund, Professor Binn, Peeves, Myrtle and the rest – weren't tracked by the school wards either. Were they on the Marauder's Map too? She hadn't thought to check then.

But how then did the Marauders manage to tag Peter's ghost, especially since enchanting a ghost with anything was notoriously difficult? Two of the Marauders were dead and one was in prison by then, so Lupin must've done it? But even if he could, _why_? What was the _point_? It made no sense.

More information was needed. "Is there any way we can talk to people who actually knew Sirius Black personally?"

"I don't think that would go over very well," said Blaise, "I mean, in today's climate, asking if someone was close to Black is almost like asking if someone used to know You-Know-Who. Nobody will admit to it. We know McGonagall and Flitwick taught him, but we've already kind of heard their perspective."

"Actually, I can think of one other way," Daphne tapped her chin, "People might not want to talk about Sirius Black, but if Harry asks them about his dad and friends... they won't really refuse, right? I can try to get Harry invited to my Mum's Yule dinner, if that's okay with you Harry. I doubt she'd say no to you – I mean, you _are _the Boy-who-lived."

Harry looked a bit conflicted, Hermione saw. On the one hand, he felt guilty about using his privilege to get benefits that others wouldn't have. On the other hand, nobody else had a mass murderer hounding them down for revenge either… "I'd like that, but I don't know anything about going to dinner parties."

"Well, I guess a crash course is in order," Daphne solemnly prescribed, "Oh, and Sal, you might want to come too. If you don't mind me saying, you're doing an impeccable job but you do sound a bit old-fashioned sometimes."

_'__That I probably do…' _"I'd appreciate the help, Daphne."

"Not a problem, Sal! To the lair!"

Hermione ran after them, mentally adding another piece to the puzzle of Sirius Black. It seemed that this party would be even more interesting than she'd expected.

* * *

Ninth seat at the bar, behind the Christmas tree that stood near Minerva's table, Remus nursed his mug of butterbeer. It wasn't his turn to supervise the students today, but his stash of chocolates was getting short.

It had been incredibly awkward, sitting through that conversation about James and Sirius and Peter. Not many people had actually read that sliver of article twelve about Sirius's arrest, he suspected, but he did. And what a shock it had been! Albus had suspected that someone close to them had turned coat, but Remus hadn't really believed it in his heart until … well, it happened.

Now, listening to the minister describe the gruesome scene that surrounded Sirius as he was taken away, laughing, it felt as if another knife had been shoved into his back.

How could one of the people that once meant the world to him turn out to be such a monster? Who would've thought? Remus still clearly remembered saying, in sixth year, how meeting Sirius and James on the Hogwarts Express was the best thing that happened to him. Now, he wished he'd never known Sirius at all.

Perhaps, Remus thought, the smartest people in the world would never have let themselves grow so emotionally attached to anyone. They would have enough self control to make sure they'd never suffer the pain of a betrayal. But Remus did not. He supposed that'd been how he ended up doing the dumb thing.

But it was not all bad, was it? Fate took James from him, but it left him with little Harry. He'd seen Prongslet with his little group of friends at the door earlier as well, but they seemed to have ran off. It was nice to see him so happy with his peers. Even now, he was still impressed by what a remarkable group of people they were. He'd been teaching them long enough that he knew all of their names now. Blaise, Theodore, and Daphne in Slytherin, and Terry and Anthony in Ravenclaw. And in Gryffindor there was Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. The mystery girl.

How _did_ she manage to vanish like that? He couldn't make head or tail of her, and neither could Severus it seemed. He almost wished he still had that Map the Marauders made back in school, so that he could at least see where she went. Ah well.

Maybe he'd go exploring for some new secret passaged over Christmas.

* * *

**A.N.: Thanks for all the pairing votes! I now have a rough idea of how I want the romance aspects of the story to go :) Will update you guys on this closer to the end of year 3.**


	61. Year 3: Chapter 13

_'Dear Tom, everyone went home for the holiday, so I'm all alone in the tower. The castle feels so empty now. Everywhere I go is so quiet… And here I am, with only parchment and the echo of my own footsteps off the stone corridors for company._

_Henry, Gloria, and Rowley all wrote back to me, but I still kind of miss the time we were all working together. Tom, they meant it when they said nothing would take the four of us apart, right? They would still care about me, now that they don't really need me for anything anymore?...'_

* * *

The students had gone home for the holiday, and Hermione had apparated straight back to Slytherin Castle from a discreet corner of the train platform. Yule had come quickly enough.

Owls circled the tower that housed the lord and lady's chamber when Hermione woke on the midwinter solstice. From the vantage point of her bed, she could see that some of them had already dropped off their load on her nightstand and were merely resting before their next journey, while others still had envelopes tied to their legs. None of them would remember the location of the castle once they departed the grounds, of course.

Hermione padded across the cool stone floor to relieve the remaining owls of their burdens, and couldn't help but smile wryly at the familiar sight. Every holiday was like this in the final fifteen years before she'd departed her first life. Most of her mail then had been from sycophants. Some had been from more mutually beneficial acquaintances or business associates. And then there would be the three that she'd await most eagerly…

Helga would send "a hundred hugs and kisses" with a detailed update of happenings at the school, and gush about the antics of her children and grandchildren. Godric would jape about beating Salazar's house at Quidditch – he and Rowena had both still been at Hogwarts then. Rowena would share newly developed incantations or magical theory. And Salazar would provide political news, and sometimes a broad description of whatever scheme he was working on at the time.

Sometimes they invited him for visits, either at the school they built together or at their respective homes. Salazar nearly always went.

Hermione carried the armful of envelopes to her nightstand and began to open them. A couple were from classmates she'd only spoken with in passing, asking if _Journal of a Wandering Mage _was really hers. There was Mum and Dad's, and Hermione smiled at the great time they were having in France and their congratulations for her novel. She _had_ made sure to disclose that she could finance her own education now, even though they couldn't know the details. There were parcels from Blaise, Daphne and Theo, owl-ordered packages from Harry and Terry, and a funny-shaped item from Anthony. Lavender, Parvati, Neville, the Weasley siblings, greeting cards from some of the third year Slytherins that she was closer to… And finally, a letter from Mme. Leblanc wishing her a happy holiday and agreeing to pick her up at the publisher office for the Greengrass party. She'd better prepare for that early, including a mental checklist of everything she'd like to try to accomplish there –

Why, that ridiculous inarticulable idea, still?

Always a high tower, with solid walls and an unobstructed view on all sides. Always a spyglass to observe the world, near and far as much as she pleased… And always, _always_, that feeling of something missing. _Incompleteness_.

_Why?_

Hermione suppressed a sigh, and paced out to the balcony. The flock of owls had already crossed her garden of roses and was disappearing into the distance in various directions.

Looking at this a different way, what was the significance of a tower? A prime vantage point. A defence feature. A mechanism for broadcasting, like a lighthouse or a bell tower? A display of might, to awe one's allies and enemies alike?

Or a prison…?

Did she feel she wasn't doing enough, didn't have enough freedom to act? But why, when her influence was expanding as planned? That couldn't be it!

Or was it helplessness she felt? But she didn't think so, when she was sure she had everything under control. Even Professors Lupin and Snape's extraordinary interest in her. Even the Sirius Black-Peter Pettigrew mystery. Sure, she hadn't solved it yet, but she was about to acquire more information, she was giving the situation her due attention, and she was far from _helpless_.

But she'd been found crying in a tower once, according to Baron Edmund's ghost. He'd said…

Ah, what was she thinking. She was becoming too distracted! Having access to a time turner didn't make it acceptable to waste time pondering vague emotions. There was plenty of work to be done, especially today.

Heading back into the depth of the tower, Hermione dressed herself in a muggle coat and toque. Then she apparated to Diagon Alley to mail off replies to certain letters and meet the Weasley twins. They'd looked slightly surprised when she handed them two copies of a contract outlining the agreed-upon terms in writing ("Madam Leblanc said you always have to sign contracts when you do business"), but they did know to infuse their signatures with magic so that it would become legally binding. Her next stop was her underground Chamber at Hogwarts to check on the school through the portraits and the wards, and to maintain 'little Sally's' correspondence with the horcrux. It seemed Tom had caught on to the bait she'd presented him, and was now starting to use a plethora of false assurances and "unintentional" letdowns to try to build himself an opportunity for possession - which was interesting. Then, it was time to put on 'Sandra Homer's' skin and flowery shawl and check in with the Silver Spindle. She'd promised to be present for a few hours during the days for the holidays, so that she could at least meet her customers herself.

But when afternoon came, Hermione styled her hair into a basic up-do and changed into a simply cut black dress with just enough green detailing to avoid the label of generic. The goal of this costume had been to dress just well enough to fit in among the adults, but still keep to the image of a young girl. Neat but not fancy. Somewhat memorable but not attention-drawing.

"Ah, Hermione! You look lovely in that," Madam Leblanc praised when Hermione arrived at the publishing office.

Hermione nodded her thanks. In truth, the older witch had already preapproved her outfit two weeks ago, not quite trusting her to judge its appropriateness for herself.

"Now, dear, remember: This isn't exactly a party for fun. I'm going to introduce you to some people first when we get there, and then you can go off to enjoy the food."

"I understand, Madam Leblanc," Hermione agreed obediently, "I'll stay with you first, and then I'll go look for Daphne." _'And leave you to do your business undisturbed.'_

As for herself, there were three things she'd wanted to do at the party. The first was, as she'd agreed with Leblanc, to interest the "newspeople" enough to secure interviews. The next was to observe and possibly meet members of the upper echelon of society in person – it would lend a different perspective to what she'd guessed through analyzing their work. Finally, as she'd agreed with the Nocturne Group, she was to quiz people about Sirius Black with Harry and Daphne. Once again it should be quite valuable to make the inquiries in person, because she could finally catch a glimpse of the Ven. Mr. Black for herself through their memories.

"Very well, let us depart," Leblanc took her hand, and apparated her to the gates of a stately manor house.

* * *

It seemed that customs hadn't completely changed with time. A house elf showed them in to a small ball room that served as the reception area for the evening. Politeness demanded that they go and greet their host sometime soon. The room was already half-filled by the time they'd arrived, however, and so their quest to search for the Greengrass matriarch ended up introducing Hermione to a Mr. Pharrol, a Mrs. Jackson, and a Mme. Fawcette first. They also met Rita Skeeter, but Mme. Leblanc ushered Hermione away without staying to talk for long.

"Rita isn't your concern – she only goes after the big fish," Leblanc whispered, "but she's a tricky one. If she ever finds someone's story interesting but … could be more interesting, she will make it so one way or another. You know what I mean?"

"I think so," Hermione smiled understandingly, "her reputation precedes her." She could imagine Skeeter's reaction if she, say, found out that Harry Potter was at the party all too well.

But they'd warned Harry to expect enthusiastic journalists beforehand, and the room full of socialites should dilute the attention significantly. Failing that, Daphne's presence should protect him a bit. Even Skeeter would not harass Mme. Greengrass's daughter, especially in her own home, without thinking twice.

They finally found Mme. and Mr. Greengrass near the front of the room speaking with an elderly couple whose names Hermione never got a chance to learn. The Greengrass matriarch was clearly very good at playing host. She was the image of grace and confidence, and took care to project an assertive but genial personality. People treated her with deference as if it was only natural. Hermione could see how she not only managed to avoid taking any part in the previous war entirely, but also become the de facto leader of the neutral families.

Leblanc and Mme. Greengrass greeted each other like good friends, and talked about a good many things while Hermione dutifully waited at the side. Finally, Leblanc put an arm around Hermione's shoulders, beckoning her forward. "Alessandra, Mr. Greengrass, allow me to introduce Miss Hermione Granger, the author of_ Journal of a Wandering Mage._"

Hermione made the usual pleasantries, shook hands with them both (because Daphne had confirmed that bowing as a greeting was mostly out of fashion now), and presented Mme. Greengrass with her gift. There were no etiquette guides on what a young girl should gift the host family – because it generally wasn't done, but it had been necessary to distinguish her from a child merely tagging along. It had taken a bit of thinking to find an acceptable gift. She did not know the lady well enough to produce anything meaningful, and anything expensive or flashy would be unimpressive let alone something less. Still, Leblanc had thought her small vase of twenty-eight crystal irises and a self-depreciating smile would be adequate, so Hermione couldn't be too far off in the end. "I transfigured these from the fresh flowers myself, Madam Greengrass. It, er, took me awhile to get them right, but I really hope you like them."

"Thank you, Hermione," one of Alessandra Greengrass's eyebrows went up in mild surprise, "Such beautiful flowers! I imagine they weren't easy to produce."

Hermione had resisted the temptation to use the duplication charm, and had instead actually picked out twenty-eight perfect irises to turn into crystal so that no two flowers were the same. If dedication was the only thing she could show Mme. Greengrass, then she would have it. And she could only wonder at how long it would've taken a _normal_ thirteen-year-old to complete the bouquet.

"I've seen the poster for _Journal of a Wandering Mage _in Diagon Alley, but I hadn't realized its author would be quite so young," said Mr. Greengrass, not unkindly, "You must be still in school."

"I'm in Daphne's year at Hogwarts," Hermione confirmed, "and I think maybe it's my youth that helped me in writing this book. Adults have important business to mind everyday, while we children have more free time to wonder."

Daphne's mother chuckled, a tinkling laugh that was strikingly similar to her daughter's. "An interesting perspective, Hermione. Perhaps you ought to tell us more about it some time."

"Madam Greengrass." At this moment, they were joined by a platinum blond couple. And Hermione recognized _them _at once.

"Mr. Malfoy, Narcissa," greeted Mme. Greengrass. "My, Narcissa, your dress is simply exquisite!"

"Thank you, Alessandra. It's from a little place in Diagon Alley called The Silver Spindle. One must wade through a sea of plebeians to get in," Mrs. Malfoy sniffed, "but the collection in the back is satisfactory."

Hermione saw that Narcissa Malfoy was indeed wearing the silver number that was on display nearer to the start of the month.

But at the moment Hermione was more interested in observing the husband. Given her in depth research of the slippery opportunist the year before, nothing about Lucius Malfoy surprised her. In person, he extruded a suave air that reminded her of his ancestor Armand, who had been one of Hogwart's first students. But the current Malfoy patriarch also wore a near-permanent expression of cool arrogance that was more like the style of Armand's mother, Mme. Lucinda Malfoy.

Hermione resisted a smirk. Ah, what luck. Stubborn Lucinda might well be his namesake.

"Ah, Madam… Leblanc, right?" Having finished paying his respects to the Greengrass, Mr. Malfoy was now turning to acknowledge his other company. "You look gorgeous tonight. Er, your daughter?"

"Oh no," Mme. Leblanc laughed, "Mr. Malfoy, this young lady is Hermione Granger, our newest author. You may have seen her work, _Journal of a Wandering Mage._"

"It's an honour to meet you, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione offered her hand, and Mr. Malfoy shook it almost automatically.

But then recognition flashed in his eyes. "Granger?"

"That is my name, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione confirmed pleasantly.

"My son Draco has said much about you," he said, slowly, "He told us your test scores have quite a reputation in school. Impressive, especially for a girl of… muggle descent."

Hermione accepted the "praise", pretending not to notice that small pause. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I've had to work hard to remedy my ignorance," _Such as being behind on history by a thousand years, _"Especially the ways of the magical world, but I'm proud to say that I've mostly caught up."

"Yes, I'm sure the quills and the parchments and the robes must've been a big adjustment," said Lucius Malfoy, with just the slightest mocking glint in his eyes. It wasn't in his interest to make a scene at Mme. Greengrass's party, after all.

"Ah, those things are actually quite easy to understand once I think about it," Hermione beamed up at him innocently, "Wizards have charms to erase or refill ink, so why waste time developing and adjusting to some wooden cylinders that smudge? Why switch to a flimsier material like paper when one can reproduce parchment just as easily with a duplication charm? Why get rid of robes when they work just fine? No, I think the difficult part is properly appreciating the magical society's social mentality, aspirations, and how it …" She'd wanted to say "sees its place among the universe", but that concept was already a bit too foreign. "… interacts with other parts of the world. It's intriguing."

"Indeed," Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but he said no more. "Good evening to you, Madam Greengrass, Mr. Greengrass, Madam Leblanc, Miss… Granger."

It was a pity that he had not asked her to elaborate, as she'd been wondering if he would. But the fact that he acknowledged her before he left the conversation was a pleasant surprise.

Leblanc spent a little while longer speaking with the Greengrass, before (figuratively) bowing out of the conversation as well. At about half an hour before dinner, they'd managed to become reasonably sure that Hermione should be expecting an owl from Witches Weekly, the Wizarding Wireless Network, and maybe – though she wouldn't count on this - the Daily Prophet. They'd also managed to meet Mme. Bones who was the head of the DMLE, and Mr. Crouch who was the head of the International Magical Cooperations and the former head of the DMLE, but only in passing. Hermione had spotted Tristan Nott a few times – though he only seemed to socialize with the dark-aligned families today, and Marius Bulstrode who was speaking intently with the ministry's head treasurer.

_'A productive evening so far, all in all.' _She wondered how much luck she'd have on the other front.

Then, when murmurs she heard in passing indicated that Harry had arrived, Leblanc sent her off.

* * *

It had taken her a bit longer than expected to spot Daphne's pale blond hair among then swishing robes and gowns, but Hermione finally found her friends among a small circle of their own near the back of the room. Daphne was smiling politely and clearly making sure to stay close to Harry. Meanwhile, Harry was excusing himself from the end of a conversation with a man Hermione recognized as Mr. Pharrol to shake the offered hand of a tall witch. Theo was at the party as well, and flanked Harry on the other side.

"Sal!" "Sally!" Daphne waved when she saw her. Harry turned as well, not quite completely hiding his relief for the intermission.

Hermione used the pause in conversation to join the circle at Daphne's other side.

"Ah, Miss Granger, right?" Mr. Pharrol remembered, "it's been good meeting you earlier."

"Likewise, Mr. Pharrol. Er, my name's Hermione Granger. I'm here with Madam Leblanc, my editor, tonight." Hermione explained to the others looking on with mild interest.

"Your editor?" asked the tall witch.

Hermione nodded. "For my novel, _Journal of a Wandering Mage_."

"Ah! I thought I remember seeing your name somewhere!"

"But we call her Sal, Madam Vance. The four of us are good friends from school," Daphne supplied.

Madam Emmeline Vance was the bronze medalist - or was it silver? - from the British Duelling Tournament last year, Hermione remembered vaguely.

"Oh, you're classmates?" Madam Vance was surprised.

"No, Theodore and I are in Slytherin, and Harry and Sal are in Gryffindor. But we're from the same year."

Madam Vance was about to say something, but was cut off when Rita Skeeter chose this moment to invite herself to the circle. "Ah, Harry! When I heard you're here I had to come and meet you for myself. Hello, Daphne dear."

"It's good to meet you, Madam Skeeter," Harry shook her hand tentatively but politely.

"You've heard of me already!" Skeeter laughed, a high-pitched sound that was quite shrill, "But please, just Rita is fine, dear."

"It's good to meet you, Rita," Harry obliged her, "Er, you were saying, Madam Vance?"

"I just wanted to tell you how glad I am to see you, Harry," Madam Vance smiled, glad to speak again, "You were barely a week old when I last saw you. Your mother would only let me hold you for two minutes before she took you back. She was a good witch, Lily, and she really loved you."

"Please, Madam Vance, did you know my parents well?" Harry asked hopefully, "it's just… my muggle relatives didn't tell me anything about them – what they did, what they're like and everything. I didn't even know they were a wizard and a witch until I got my Hogwarts letter."

In her peripheral vision, Hermione could see Skeeter, Pharrol, and a number of other journalists nearby listening with rapt attention. Skeeter especially looked to be nearly bursting with questions, except it would be too rude to interrupt. Vance's gaze softened instantly. "Aw, you poor dear! But how could they tell you so little?"

Harry blushed, embarrassed, but replied carefully. "My relatives… are not bad people, but they don't really like magic, see. They try not to think about anything related to wizards. I guess I have to be understanding of that. But I'm really glad to meet people who knew them now! Was my dad really an Auror?"

"Oh yes, and a talented one too!" Vance assured, "I think becoming an Auror was his biggest dream back in school. That, and professional Quidditch. But Auror won out in the end."

"Harry is really good at Quidditch too! He got picked to play Seeker in first year. They say he's the youngest to be on the team in ages," Hermione supplied, mainly for Skeeter's benefit. It would give her something to focus on, apart from the orphan sob story that she had a feeling Harry wouldn't appreciate.

She also took this opportunity to very gently examine Vance's Occulumency defences. Slipping in never was a problem for her, of course. Pulling herself out without being noticed tended to be more difficult, but Vance shouldn't be too tricky.

"Incredible! James would be so proud, Harry. He played Chaser back in school. He'd earn us back as many points he lost with his troublemaking, the rascal," Vance shook her head fondly, not noticing the tiny wisp of thought that slithered through one of the gaps in her mental shield. She was deep in her memories, Hermione saw. Vance herself, sitting at the Gryffindor table for supper. Four boys - each a year below her, clowning around at the far end of the table…

"Troublemaking?" Daphne prompted, but it was time for dinner – much to Skeeter's very obvious disappointment. Madam Vance genially invited the children to sit at a table with herself, Madam MacDougal, and Mr. and Mrs. Diggory. The ladies knew each other as students, and all were dismayed that Harry learned about his parents so late. Mr. Diggory said something suitable to express pity, and Vance fondly began to recount their school days again.

"Lily was the good girl, of course. Always kind, always helping others, highest mark in class… She didn't like James then. James was obviously in love with her right away, but she kept telling him to goof off somewhere else until seventh year!" Vance chuckled, and Mrs. Diggory joined in. "But James was the one pulling a prank every other day. Pesky little devil seeds, he and his friends were. They even named themselves the Marauders."

Vance shook her head. She was remembering a hallway coated in vibrant purple slime… The conjured image of what seems to be four paw prints floating in midair to mark the deed… Filch stamping his feet in the hazy background…

"I heard James Potter and Sirius Black were best friends," Theo chose this moment to prompt.

The smiles around the table turned sad. "Ah yes, they were…" And the memories shifted again to the four laughing boys. Sirius was clapping James on the back, while James was looking inordinately pleased with himself. Both were laughing rancorously. On the other side of the table, Remus wore a large grin while the fourth boy, Peter, giggled along. Pettigrew looked quite small beside his tall friends - almost like a mouse before giants, but perhaps the way Vance saw him had something to do with it. Even memories could be influenced to some degree by perception, after all. "They were like brothers. We were taken completely by surprise! Who knew he was going to turn out this way?"

"Black really didn't get along well with… that crowd, even his own family," said Mrs. Diggory for lack of a better term. Her mind was flickering through scenes of Sirius hexing a boy who bore some resemblance to Gaius Avery… Sirius getting assigned detention while a pair of malicious looking students in green ties sniggered… Professors rushing to break up what looked to be a duel between a furious Sirius and a murderous young Bellatrix… "But we Hufflepuffs didn't know him that well then. I bet there was something shady going on in secret."

But she had no memories to back up that assertion, Hermione noted.

"He didn't seem the type to me," said Mme. MacDougal, whose family like the Greengrass was neutral in the war. "But he didn't associate much with us Ravenclaws either, so I suppose I could be wrong. Emmeline knows best, I'm sure." It was unfortunate that her mind was too risky to enter. Her point of view would've probably been very useful.

"Anyways," Vance took a large sip from her glass, and Hermione didn't need legilimency to know she was hoping to move on from the subject. "Remus Lupin was another of James's _Marauders_."

"Professor Lupin?" The children yelped in surprise.

"Oh is he teaching now?" Asked Mme. Vance, "Suits him. He was prefect back in school, though Merlin knows how he managed to get that badge, what's with everything his friends got up to." Her memories had shifted to an image of a young Remus Lupin in the common room, explaining something in a textbook to two first years.

"He said he knew my dad well, but I didn't know they were that close!" said Harry, wonderingly. Beside him, Daphne and Theo shared a look.

"Oh yes, they were inseparable," Vance confirmed.

"But wasn't there a fourth kid?" asked Mr. Diggory, "I always thought it was one paw print for each of them."

"Oh yes, two dog prints, a horse, and something else!" agreed his wife, and Hermione saw again the floating image of four paw prints. "The fourth boy, Pierre I think…"

_'__The smallest print was probably a rat's, and that "horse" print looked more like a deer's. And the larger of the two "dog" prints might be a wolf's, for Lupin. Mooney, heh.'_

Wait a minute. Lupin. Mooney. Wolf…

"No, I'm pretty sure it was an English name," MacDougal interjected, "Maybe Parker?"

_'__Pettigrew. Wormtail… Rat? And Prongs could easily be a stag, and Padfoot...'_

"Peter," Vance corrected. "I actually knew him fairly well." And her memories shifted again to Peter, back hunched, scuttling to his next class with an armful of books. Then to Peter, somewhat fidgety as he sat at a table with James, Sirius, Remus, Lily, and a roomful of others that Hermione knew from Vance's memory to be the original Order of Phoenix. "He was a bit of a nervous boy, but he was brave in the end. Brave enough to take arms against You-Know-Who."

Mme. MacDougal made a noncommittal noise, but Mrs. Diggory nodded vigorously.

"Poor Peter! Shame on Black for turning on his own friends!"

_'…__But they didn't actually find his body!' _

Of course! They were animagi!

Wizards in their animagus forms were not detected by the school wards, but the Marauders could've easily tagged themselves with something when they first started working on their map! This would explain why they appeared on the Marauder's Map but not on hers.

Hermione was figuratively kicking herself for not thinking of this sooner. Of course Pettigrew's presence in the boy's dorms would go unnoticed if he didn't look like anything out of place. She even _knew_ that a rat lived in the boys' dormitories with Ron! Though in her defence, she never had much cause to pay attention to Ron's "pet".

So Pettigrew was not killed by Black, but was instead apparently living in the Weasleys' home all these years. Clearly he'd intentionally made himself dead to the world – the loss of only a single finger at the scene did not seem very accidental, after all. But he'd chosen to remain a rat even long after Black was apprehended, which suggested that he wasn't hiding from Black at all. Why so terrified, then?

They said Pettigrew went to confront Black, but the two actually met in the middle of a muggle street. Who's to say it wasn't actually the other way around? And when Black said "_he_'s at Hogwarts"... Well, it would explain all of Black's seemingly contradictory actions up to now as well.

An alternative theory was beginning to seem highly plausible. _Pettigrew_ was the traitor, not Black.

Daphne and Theo were still eagerly questioning Vance and MacDougal about Lupin, while Harry was trying to ask the Diggorys more about his father and Black. Hermione drew back temporarily and steepled her fingers under the table. If she was even in part correct, then she should keep a closer eye on Ron and "Scabbers" for the boy's safety. She'd also alert the Nocturne Group to this possibility somehow. Wouldn't do for Harry to pursue what could very well turn into a vendetta against the wrong man.

At least the mystery was solved. Or very close to solved. Probably.

But she had a feeling she hadn't dreamt the last of that damned tower and spyglass yet.

* * *

**AN: Very long chapter! I actually had the first half written awhile ago, but I thought it would be better to merge it with the party scene. **

**Harry's first contact with Rita Skeeter actually went quite well, because of the different situation in which they met. Also, Harry is better mentally prepared thanks to the Nocturne Group, as well as a bit better able to control his temper to get what he wants (in this case, information.) He describes the Dursleys as "okay people" because now that they're starting to treat him better, the risk from badmouths them actually outweighs the dubious benefits. **

**As a side note, the Lucinda Malfoy mentioned here was the lady who was arguing with Salazar in Ch 4 of The Making of Legends.**

**In case anyone skipped it, the Baron conversation mentioned here happened in Chapter 16 (or Year 1 Chapter 15).**

**Unfortunately I'm going to be more busy this year than I thought, so I'm probably only going to be able to update once a month... Sorry for the wait!**


	62. Year 3: Chapter 14

**AN: Just noticed that I screwed up the formatting for the "dear Tom" section last chapter. That was a diary entry and should've be italicized with single quotes. Sorry for any confusion!**

* * *

_'__Dear Tom, today was so-so, I guess. The weather's ok. And the Defence Professor gave us our project back, and we got an O, so that's great I guess.'_

**_'_****_You sound down, Sally. Is everything ok?'_**

_'__Yeah... Well, there is one thing, but it's kind of silly. It doesn't matter.'_

**_'_****_Nothing you say is ever silly, Sally. Tell me what's wrong?'_**

_'__Well, it's just… At dinner I went to sit with Henry, Rowley and Gloria again, but Henry and Rowley were surrounded by their own friends. I don't think they even noticed me. Henry was busy trying to stop Arthur from nicking his potato. Then I went to Gloria and she shuffled over to make a space for me, and I sat with her._

_But then they started talking about Quidditch and a new Exploding Snap game and a bunch of people I didn't know. Sometimes Gloria had to lean back to talk to Andrea who sat on my other side. And I tried to join in, but I couldn't think of a single thing to add! I don't know, it felt as if I was there but at the same time I was not. We were still sitting and eating together, but I might as well be intruding on her life. Like, she's still my best friend in the whole school, her and Henry and Rowley, but it almost felt like it would be more convenient for everybody if I leave. Like I'm just getting in their way by being there. What do I do, Tom? What if things aren't how it used to be between us?' _

**_'_****_Sally… I'm sure everything will be ok. Maybe Gloria's just busy catching up with what everyone did over the holidays today. I suppose it must've been a bit awkward to have them talk across you all the time, but she still invited you over, so she's still your friend right? Don't worry so much, Sally. Everything's going to be just fine…'_**

* * *

"So you're saying that Peter Pettigrew is … _Who_?" Asked Fred again.

"Pettigrew is a thirty-something year old man, and he's supposed to be dead. See here," Sally pointed to the sliver of very old newspaper that announced Pettigrew's posthumous awards. "He was supposedly killed by Sirius Black twelve years ago."

"And he was friends with my dad, Sirius Black, and Professor Lupin back in school," said Harry. He was still a bit miffed as to why Sally had been so insistent on them talking to Fred and George. "They showed me something interesting that we need to account for", she'd said. Apparently the twins had sworn her to secrecy.

"They used to call themselves the Marauders," Sally added.

Harry watched with amazement as two pairs of jaws dropped simultaneously.

"Your Dad was a Marauder? - "

"_Sirius Black_ was a Marauder? No wonder our Black traps didn't work! - "

"_Professor Lupin_ was a Marauder?! Merlin - "

"This is a lot to take in…"

"Yeah…"

"…"

"…"

"So Peter Pettigrew really isn't in your class?"

Harry was confused. "What? Why would he be?"

"Well, see…" Fred and George glanced at each other, before seeming to coming to a decision. "Back when we were still innocent, wide-eyed firsties, we got dragged off to Filch's office – we dropped a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason. Anyways, we couldn't help but notice a drawer labelled Confiscated and Highly Dangerous."

Of _course_ they would… Harry felt himself starting to grin. "What did you take?"

"This," George subtly glanced around before pulling out an old piece of parchment. Harry had thought they had something hidden in its folds, but then George tapped the parchment with his wand. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good. See, it's a map of the school, and it shows where everybody is in the school. It also shows all the secret passages – well, not all, I guess. Sally knows two others, don't you Sally?"

"You do?" Harry asked his best friend, but then his eyes caught on the salutation at the top of the map. "Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present The Marauder's Map!"

"If this means what I think it means, then your dad was one of the creators of this map, Harry," Fred nodded thoughtfully.

"But see here," George pointed at the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, "'Peter Pettigrew' is still on the map! He appeared in the first years' dorm the same year you and Ron arrived, and then he showed up in the second years' dorm last year, and now he's here most of the time. That's why we thought he was one of your classmates all this time."

"He never goes anywhere, though," said Fred, "he moves around sometimes, but we rarely see him outside the dormitory – whichever one he's staying in for the year."

Harry was still staring at the map in wonder. Could this really be something his dad made? Was that really his dad's handwriting in the ink, his dad's magic in the parchment? But Peter Pettigrew, after all he'd learned this year, took up an equal part of his curiosity. Indeed, the name 'Peter Pettigrew' was on the page… in what looked suspiciously like _his_ dormitory! Weird…"And he wasn't there when you guys were first years and second years?"

The twins shook their heads. "Not at all." "Not a whiff of him." "The Map's never been wrong before!"

"But why's he showing up now? Black killed him!" And why in _his_ dorm, for Merlin's sake?

"Say, what if Black didn't?" Sally suddenly asked.

Harry frowned. How could Pettigrew not have died in that explosion? Why would Black let him live? "Are we going back to the smear campaign theory?"

"Not exactly, but you said the Minister arrived just after the deed was done, right? Did anyone actually see Black cast the spell? Did anyone even see Pettigrew die?"

"Not bloody likely," Harry retorted, "since anybody standing close enough to see would've been killed too!"

"Exactly! So all those "witnesses" don't really count! Who's to say Pettigrew didn't crawl into a ditch somewhere and disapparate?"

That… was possible, actually. He guessed he'd assumed that muggles would've seen Pettigrew leave the alley sooner or later if he were alive, but he'd forgotten that wizards could teleport. (And wouldn't that be a cool thing to learn in sixth year!) "… So you're saying that Pettigrew got hurt in the explosion but managed to escape? And now he's here?" But how come he'd never noticed him? Did Pettigrew have another invisibility cloak? Or maybe he could – what's the word? - disillusion himself like Dumbledore?

And why would he _be_ here anyways? Did he realize that Sirius Black had escaped? Was Pettigrew in danger still?

"More than that, Harry!" Sally's eyes locked onto his intently, "this might change everything. If Pettigrew's alive, then he doesn't have an alibi anymore. Why did he let the world think him dead for so long? Do we really know who killed all those muggles?"

"Woah! That's one hell of a theory," Fred whistled.

"But you have to admit, if Pettigrew's alive, doesn't he look suspicious?"

"But all this assumes that Pettigrew _is _alive," Harry reminded her.

"Why would the Map say he is when he isn't?" defended Fred.

"Merlin! Which side are you on, Gred?"

"I don't know!"

"I think we should at least consider the possibility that Pettigrew might be alive and somewhat dangerous," said Sally. "At least until we figure out why his name appears on the Map like this."

Harry shrugged. He still didn't think it was very likely. Pettigrew killing a street of muggles instead of Black and then making it look like he was the victim? He supposed he _could_'ve, but that didn't make it true!

But when they went to the Room of Requirements to meet with the Nocturne Group, they found Daphne and Theo regaling Blaise, Anthony and Terry with a theory of their own.

"Harry! Sal! You came just in time! We're trying to convince them that Lupin might be in league with Black!"

"What? Why?" Harry spluttered.

"I still think it's a bit… far-fetched to say that just because they used to be best friends, Lupin's going to help Black now," interjected Blaise.

"But you gotta admit, there's something weird about Lupin!" Daphne insisted, "Have you noticed how his health seems to change with the time of the month like clockwork? And how he keeps missing class near full moon? We think he might be a werewolf!"

"He matches the other symptoms too," Theo added, "The yellow-tinted eyes, for example."

"That's … true," nodded Terry slowly.

Harry's mind was reeling. This was too many surprises in a day! Professor Lupin, a _werewolf_?

But he felt almost compelled to defend Professor Lupin. He was the best defence professor they'd had! And he'd helped him so much with the Patronus Charm! "Even if he's a werewolf though, it doesn't mean he's helping Black!"

"Well, werewolves tend to hate wizards for rejecting them, and they supported You-Know-Who in packs during the war," said Theo, "but I guess that's true too. Still, we have to be at least a bit more careful with him. Lupin has two motives to work with Black."

"No, really!" Daphne took Harry's hand earnestly, "I mean, maybe Lupin hasn't been plotting your death – maybe he's just been bringing Black food once in a while and hiding him and things like that, but we don't know if he'll choose you over his last best friend alive if it really comes down to it."

"Funny that," said Sally, "Harry and I just found out that Pettigrew might be alive."

Harry sighed, and started to help Sally describe their conversation with the Weasley twins. He still didn't believe Pettigrew killed the muggles, but he'd rather talk about Pettigrew any day over being paranoid about Professor Lupin.

It was kind of funny. Whenever the Nocturne Group argued, nobody ever got mad. If anything, his friends seemed to alternate between cracking jokes and dead seriousness. Terry had more or less jumped aboard Sally's "Pettigrew watch", assuring them that it was always like this in muggle detective stories. Blaise threw up his hands and said if they were going to be that paranoid they might as well lock themselves in here until Black goes away, but that Professor Lupin being a werewolf should be something to remember – beside, there was _always_ something wrong with the Defense Professors. Harry thought they were jumping at shadows, and said as much. Theo said they might as well look into it, because weren't they running out of leads anyways?

They eventually agreed to pay closer attention to Professor Lupin, though they hadn't decided how. They also made Harry promise to ward his bed and check his dorm regularly for anything suspicious. Harry suggested that they talk to Professor Lupin about Peter Pettigrew, but Theo and Daphne yelled "No!" Then Daphne suggested ordering sneak-o-scopes to carry to class, and Harry suddenly remembered that Ron had given him one last summer. He'd spelled it silent because it kept going off when he was trying to sleep. But what if…

When Harry got back to his dorm that evening, he decided to try an experiment. Fishing his "faulty" sneak-o-scope out of his trunk, he removed the silencing charm. A shrill, eardrum-piercing ringing filled the room at once. "What the hell, mate!" Yelled Ron, who'd nearly sat on Scabbers in surprise.

Harry grabbed the sneak-o-scope and ran outside. It shut off the moment the dormitory door closed.

He then took it for a tour around the common room and up and down the Gryffindor tower, with no problems. Finally, he stepped back into the third year dorm, and the thing started screeching again.

Harry silenced the sneak-o-scope again and gaped at it.

Sally and Terry's theory suddenly sounded a lot more real!

* * *

After Sally and Harry ran off to who-knows-where with their friends, Fred and George sat there dumbstruck for a long time. The idea that there was a wizard who was supposed to be dead hiding somewhere in Gryffindor Tower was just… Crazy! But the Map had never been wrong before…

Maybe it was a prank on future pranksters? But why should it go off now? Two years after they'd started using the map was an oddly specific time for 'Peter Pettigrew' to turn up, wasn't it? But could there really be an adult hiding in the students' quarters?

In the end, they'd decided, it all depended on whether the Map was telling the truth or not. And with one of the Map's creators dead, one supposedly playing dead, and one on a murdering rampage, there was only one person who could explain it now.

Their DADA Professor looked surprised when he let them into his office. "Mr. and Mr. Weasley! What brings you here today?" He greeted while trying to wipe an ink smudge on his finger with a corner of his shirt.

"We found something of yours, Professor, and we thought you might need it again to catch Sirius Black. That, and we think we might've seen something, er, really really _weird _on here."

Professor Lupin's eyes lit up when they produced the piece of parchment. "You actually found the Map! I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

The three prankmasters of Hogwarts watched as the ink began to sprawl out to form names.

"Thank you for returning this to me, gentlemen," said Professor Lupin, "This will be _beyond_ helpful."

* * *

**AN: Just to clarify because some people asked, "Chamber" with the capital C meant the Chamber of Secrets. And unless otherwise specified, I meant the hidden room behind the statue rather than the large entry hall that the canon basilisk battle happened in. **


	63. Year 3: Chapter 15

_'__Dear Tom, I don't know what I should do. _

_I sat with Gloria and her friends again at dinner, but it was just like yesterday with Henry and the days before. I felt like we were just talking for courtesy's sake rather than for any real interest. I felt like an imposter sitting at that table. I guess I can blend in, smile and listen and try to copy everyone else and they won't kick me out of their circle, but I just don't belong there. I wonder if there's still any connection left between me and Gloria now, and I'm afraid I won't like the answer. Would she even notice if I'm gone? Would anyone?'_

**_'_****_Oh Sally, I understand exactly how you feel. Don't let them get you down. You're important. You matter. But if you really want to be sure,'_**

_'__Yes?'_

**_'_****_You can always go confront Gloria directly. Don't worry, everything will be alright…'_**

* * *

Harry was just putting his left foot through the portrait hole when a green blob flew past his thigh. "Trevor!"

"Accio Trevor," he turned and visualized Neville's pet. A moment later, the green blob was securely in his hand, its escape attempt cut short. "I've got him!" He called to Neville, but not before muttering a tracking charm as quietly as he possibly could.

He might not get another opportunity, and it wasn't as if he could just _tell_ Neville that his pet might actually be a middle-age man in hiding.

After the sneak-o-scope experiment, the Nocturne Group became increasingly curious about Pettigrew. They wondered about how Pettigrew might be hiding – if he was really there. Eventually, it was decided that either Pettigrew shrunk himself to the size of a bug – in which case they really can't do anything about him – or he was hiding in plain sight as an animagus.

One of the semi-regular animal residents of the dormitory was Hedwig - who was a _she _and spent most of her time in the Owlery. The other two were Trevor and Scabbers. And though they didn't know anything for sure, they could, um, discreetly keep a closer eye on the pets.

"Thanks, Harry," Neville took the toad with both hands, "that summoning charm sure is handy, huh? I don't know how I would keep track of Trevor without it."

It must be boring pretending to be someone's pet all the time. If Pettigrew really was one of them, Harry didn't know how he could stand it. _'Huh, maybe that's why Trevor keeps escaping all the time,' _

Nearer to the fireplace, Ron was gesturing dramatically about something to Sally, who was absently scratching Scabbers behind the ears. "… and I've been feeding him rat tonic, but it doesn't look like it's working! He's a very old rat. Maybe …"

"Don't worry, Ron," assured Sally as Harry joined them, "I'm sure it'll take more than a little time under the weather to kill this one. He looks like he's very well cared for."

They talked about Quidditch for a while, which put Ron in a better mood.

Later, Harry told Sally about the tracking on Trevor. The charm would link to a spelled piece of parchment that showed how far and in which direction Trevor is located relative to the parchment. They also made it show if Trevor was outside the castle. "Did you get Scabbers?"

Sally smiled. "All taken care of, Harry."

He wondered if Theo and Daphne are finding anything on Professor Lupin.

* * *

"Have you noticed recently how Lupin sometimes look at us funny?" Asked Daphne.

"He does, doesn't he?" Blaise had noticed it too. Sometimes when they meet the Defense professor in the halls or even once when they enter the classroom, the professor would react in an odd way. It was a subtle thing, a slight widening of the eyes, sort of, but Blaise agreed with Daphne that something might be going on. "You think he knows we're on to him?"

"Maybe," said Terry. "Or it might be our guilty conscience – well, obviously _we're_ not the guilty ones, but you know what I mean."

"Though I think he watches Sal and Harry the most," Theo commented.

"Does he? I didn't notice."

"Ah well, let's be more careful all the same."

* * *

Meanwhile, in the empty staff room, Remus was squinting at the sprawling map laid out on his lap. He wished he'd built in a function that lets you focus on just one name at a time. It wouldn't have helped the Marauders avoid detentions back then, but it would solve his current mystery now.

Ever since he'd gotten the Map back, he'd checked on Peter's location as often as he could. But while watching the names move about, he also noticed that Hermione Granger's 'disappeared' quite often, more often than he and Severus thought even. Remus had started to wonder if she knew of not just one, but a whole _network_ of hidden passages that the Marauders never found.

How could someone build up such intimate knowledge of the castle in just three years? A few _second_ years still struggle not to get lost!

"…and how did she get from Gryffindor Tower to the other side of the school on the second floor in less than thirty seconds?"

"How do you mean?" Remus turned in his chair, and saw Severus standing at the door.

And so, Remus somehow ended up explaining the Marauder's Map and what it did to _Severus_ of all people.

"Is that how Potter and Black always knew where I was?" Asked his former classmate archly.

Remus did his best to look apologetic, and hoped that Severus _never_ got to see the "special messages" they'd made up just for him if he ever tried to unlock the Map.

"And you have this with you all along, Lupin?"

"No, I've only … reacquired it recently," said Remus honestly. "Look, there's something really important to see on this too. See here, it's showing that Peter Pettigrew is still in the school. All those years back Sirius was arrested for Peter's death, and Peter's still alive! Sirius was arrested for a crime he didn't commit!"

"And there you go, jumping to the mutt's defense," Severus shook his head. "Are you sure it's not a glitch of your map? Faulty spellwork?"

"It isn't."

"Are you certain, because it was enchanted by four del –" But Severus bit off whatever scathing insult that had been on his tongue, and sighed instead. "Never mind. Let's say I believe you, and Pettigrew survived his encounter with Black."

"So Sirius was wrongly convicted," declared Remus, triumphant.

"It doesn't mean that Black is innocent. So what if they arrested him for blasting Pettigrew to bits and it turns out that Pettigrew survived? Those twelve muggles killed in the same explosion are still dead. Potter and Lily are still dead. Whether he successfully murdered Pettigrew is just a technicality at this point! Look, Lupin,"

Severus's black eyes were filled with disgust and a steel-like intent, and a little bit of … sympathy? "I know you and Black were thick as thieves back then, and … I know how hard it is when your best friend turns against you. But you've got to see Black for what he is. He's proven his capacity for treachery more than enough times. Even if you ignore the fact that he tried to have me killed in fifth year and make you complicit in the murder, he still betrayed Potter and Lily. You trusted him to be secret keeper and he failed utterly. He's shown his true colours now and making excuses for him won't turn him into your friend, Lupin! And you won't be doing anybody a favour if you call the dementors off him because Pettigrew technically isn't dead."

Was it really just his own sentimentality, then? But still, Remus wondered. There could be some mistake, some explanation. Anything.

It now occurred to him that Severus would want him to surrender the map so that it could be used to help capture Sirius, but they both knew that Severus would have a hard time forcing the issue unless Remus cooperated. And until he was certain what happened that Halloween night, he simply couldn't hand his old friend over to the dementors.

Remus would make sure to hold on to this map for a while longer. And keep his own watch.

* * *

"So have any of those two-way mirrors we owl-ordered shown anything yet?"

"Nope, nothing off in Lupin's office, from what we can see through the door. No strange visitors either. But then again, we're not watching him all the time. Too bad we can't put a mirror in his office itself."

"Yeah, too dangerous. He might catch us. Besides, these two sets weren't exactly cheap."

"Hopefully these'll help us solve the blasted mystery. Too bad we can't get access to the Weasley twins' 'source'! You think they won't let us use it for a little while, Harry?"

"They can't, Blaise. I tried asking, but they said they already gave it over to a professor."

"Oh they did? That's very... noble of them."

"Yeah I thought so too, Sally. I hope they didn't get in trouble for it."

"Heh, I just wonder who they gave it too."

* * *

"Well, anything new?"

"Of what kind?"

"You still refuse to give that map to the authorities, Lupin?"

"I can't, Severus. Besides, Sirius hasn't even shown up yet."

"Well, I tried. And you say Pettigrew is..."

"Still following Ron Weasley in his animagus form."

"I see."

"..."

"And how's our other mystery faring?"

"Miss Granger? I can now confidently say that she knows the castle at least as well as myself and possibly better, often disappears off to somewhere for extended periods of time, and breaks curfew more often than the Weasley twins."

"And McGonagall still thinks she never breaks rules. She counts on Granger to be a model student and keep Potter and Weasley in line."

"You mean she's never gotten caught? That's impressiv- em, I mean, that's incredible... Why, Severus, what's so funny?"

"Ha, try harder and we just might make a professor out of you yet, Lupin. But you're right. It is most impressive of her. I mean, she'd just about pulled the wool over the eyes of everybody in the castle."

"And Merlin knows how she did it."

"Well, I wish I do."

* * *

February and March passed in relative monotony. Her magical and physical retraining was on schedule. Business at the Silver Spindle became more relaxed, but still strong. Her interview with Witches Weekly and the Wizarding Wireless Network lead to an sizable increase in correspondence, most of which she replied to. She was spending a little more time with Fred and George now that they sometimes consulted her for opinions on products, but not that much more than before. Tom Marvolo Riddle was the same as ever.

The Nocturne Group continued to spy on Lupin directly, and Neville and Ron's respective pets through the tracking charms. Hermione had personally cast the tracking on 'Scabbers' silently and wandlessly, and the animagus would have a hard enough time even realizing that it was there, let alone her involvement. Just a precaution, in case Pettigrew eventually decided to ambush someone. Meanwhile, the knowledge that Lupin now probably had the Marauder's Map must be taken into consideration, lest she accidentally lead him to the girl's bathroom on the second floor. She now sometimes travelled around the school in her own animagus form just to be safe.

Hermione also made sure to start spending more time with Ron, mostly out of concern for his proximity to Pettigrew. Especially since she discovered that he was beginning to carry Scabbers in his pocket all the time due to the rat's "sickness". After her plethora of obligations in second year they'd drifted apart somewhat, but Harry and Ron had always been close and Hermione spent too much time with the Weasley siblings to be a stranger. If Ron was surprised by the change, he didn't show it.

Weeks passed without too much excitement. Thus, on an ordinary Saturday evening when the Nocturne Group decided to go for a stroll to scout out the area for the obstacle course exam that Professor Lupin was supposedly going to set, they were completely taken by surprise to see Ron being dragged into the forest by a giant black dog.

"Ron!" Harry yelled, and charged after them.

"Harry wait!" Yelled Blaise, "Damn, now we have to go in after him! It's too dangerous to for him to be off alone. It might be a trick by Sirius Black!"

_'__No truer words, Blaise…' _Especially since she now had an idea of who the 'dog' was. "Anthony and Theo, mind letting some professors know where we're going and why? Just in case we run into something murderous in there."

The pair took off toward the castle without complaint, while the others started briskly into the forest. They were tense, but also curious and excited. After almost a year of guessing, it was time for some sort of resolution at last.

And as for Hermione herself, she felt rather much the same.

* * *

**AN: This is it! I realize that the next part would be a bad place to cliff-hang, so the rest of year 3 would probably be either a mega-update or a cluster of updates. **


	64. Year 3: Chapter 16

"Ron!"

The dark animal was leaping away with amazing speed. Harry ran as fast as he could, just barely managing not to lose sight of Ron's maroon jumper among the trees. He could hear his friends yelling behind him, but they were keeping up. He had to get to Ron, and quickly.

Then, suddenly, the dog disappeared with Ron entirely.

Harry squinted, searching in vain for a flicker in the distance, or perhaps some footprints or a trail. He'd lost them! How was he supposed to help Ron now? If his friend was armed, then at least he could hope that Ron might've freed himself already. But if he happened to have dropped his wand in the struggle -

But wait, didn't Ron say he was visiting Hagrid for advice on Scabbers's illness this evening? "The tracking on Scabbers! We need that parchment!"

Sally was quick to whip out the item in question. "Ten meters, forward and down. If Scabbers is still with him, that is."

Forward and _down_? But how –

"Look! There's a tunnel under the whomping willow," pointed Daphne.

Harry gulped. He knew from his experience in second year that they would have a hell of a time getting around the club-like branches – but thankfully they didn't have to. A small pebble had levitated and launched itself at a knot at the base of the tree, causing all the branches to freeze in place. "I came across something about whomping willows when I was reading for the last Herbology essay," said Terry excitedly, "It's so cool that it actually worked! Did you know they hit hard enough to smash up a train?"

Blaise started to comment on how difficult it would be for a dog to figure out that trick, but Harry was already climbing into the tunnel. He hoped Ron hadn't been injured too badly. Madam Pomfrey could probably fix him up in a day or two as long as they could find him before he bleeds to death, but getting mauled would _hurt_.

There was a light up ahead. Shuffling toward it, Harry found himself in a sort of … cabin? His ginger friend was sitting on the floor in a heap. Seeing Ron's painful-looking position, Harry ran to him at once. "Ron! Are you alright?"

"Harry watch out – "

"Expelliarmus."

…And spun around, only to stare into a gaunt, haggard face framed by long, matted hair. Sirius Black grinned, pointing Ron's wand at his chest.

Harry reflexively tried to raise his wand, only to find that it was already flying halfway across the room.

"I thought you'd come and help your friend," Black started, but cut off in surprise when the wand he was holding shot out of his hand as well. At the same time, a red beam flew from the tunnel, shot past Ron's fingers, and landed squarely on the quivering lump in his chest pocket. It immediately became still.

"Wow, great aim, Sal!" said Blaise to Sally, both of them emerging from the shadows.

"Not bad yourself, Blaise. Accio," said Sally, summoning both wands to her before training her own wand on Black. "Sorry about this, but we have to take precautions. What and who exactly have you come for, Mr. Black?"

"It's a trap for Harry!" Ron started to shout. "Give us back our wands! If you want him you'll have to kill me too, Black!"

Sirius Black merely raised a pointed finger at Ron. Harry scrambled to collect the wands from Sally. Nobody promised that Black couldn't do wandless magic! Except, it was not a spell that left his mouth.

"There's the one I came for," Black croaked. "The little bastard who should've died long ago!"

"M-me?!" Ron squeaked.

So it was really true! Harry understood. "It's Ron's rat, isn't it? Peter Pettigrew? The rat is the one you tried to break into the common room for?"

"Scabbers? W-what –"

"Yes, Harry!" Black shouted, looking very much like a madman in that moment. It was as if a floodgate had been opened. "We thought he was our friend, but all along he was selling our secrets to You-Know-Who! He sold your parents' lives to You-Know-Who! When I saw _Wormtail_ in that picture in the Prophet, I knew I'd get him at last!"

"So who blew up the street full of muggles?" asked Sally.

"Pettigrew did! He cut off his own finger, the bastard, and before I knew it I was staring at a giant fireball barrelling away! And they pinned the whole thing on me, threw me in Azkaban without asking a single question – Ha! Now _please_, lend me a wand and let me finish him!"

As strange as Black's story was, Harry thought it actually sort of made sense. At least, more sense than what _they'd_ been able to come up with so far. He supposed that explained why they couldn't find any information on Black's trial or past crimes. Of course they couldn't, if there actually were none.

But Black's last exclamation also jerked Ron out of his shocked stupor. "What the hell! You're bonkers!" yelled Ron. Pulling the limp rat out of his pocket, he cradled him protectively. "You broke my leg!"

Harry's wariness of Black was back in full force. Innocent or not, he still injured Ron and dragged Ron through the woods. Clearly he was not harmless. And Black's fevered expression and single-minded focus on killing Pettigrew was also a bit unsettling. It didn't speak well for his sanity.

"Look, I'm sorry about that! But this is my only chance. I can't let him get away again!"

"Ron," Sally murmured, "you said he's a very old rat. How long has Scabbers been in your family?"

"T-ten years? Eleven? Why? We've been taking very good care of him!"

"Still, that's a bit too long for a rat, isn't it? And you say he'd started shivering – when? Ever since the summer when Sirius Black broke out of prison?"

Ron shook his head furtively. "But Scabbers is just … Scabbers! He sleeps all day and eats when I feed him and bit Crabbe for us in first year and -"

"Ron, we suspected that Pettigrew's alive and hiding in our dorm since Christmas," Harry had to explain, "Ask Fred and George! They had this thing that showed the names of everybody in the school, and they were the ones who found him first. We wondered if he might be an animagus, and we were watching all the pets in the dorm. We just didn't know which…"

"You see?" Cried Black, vindicated, "Now give the bastard here!" And he took a long stride toward Ron, but a quiet "accio" from Sally sent the rat soaring into her waiting hand. Scabbers– Pettigrew– finally began to stir, but after a quick "petrificus totalus" from Sal he was still again.

"Mr. Black, if the Aurors see him alive he can be used to prove your innocence – free you," explained Sally, "You only have to wait a little longer for justice –"

"I did my waiting! Twelve years! In Azkaban!"

Harry stole a glance toward his friends. A part of him sympathized with Black's need for revenge, but another part didn't want him to really become a murderer because of a ratty traitor.

Sally didn't seem to react at all, but that outburst made Blaise suspicious again. "Not so fast. Why not give him to the Aurors, Mr. Black? You say Pettigrew was the one who worked for the Death Eaters and killed the twelve people. How do we know you're telling the truth? We can't just hand over a person for you to kill because you tell us to."

Black rounded on him, then narrowed his eyes at Blaise's green scarf. "Why do you even ask? Don't pretend you little Death Eaters don't know already!"

"May I remind you that _you_ and Pettigrew are the Death Eater suspects here?" Blaise's eyebrows rose exaggeratedly like they always did when he tried to look nonchalant. "And don't even think about taking one of our wands by force. All of us know how to duel, and we've got back-up too!"

"You're not doing yourself any favours by insulting our friend, Mr. Black," Harry added. Black jerked back as if stung at this, which in turn confused Harry. Had he said something unreasonable? "If you don't cooperate we'll have to call people who'll be less likely to hear you out!"

Now that the excitement wore off, Harry kind of wished they'd let someone more qualified deal with this instead. What were you supposed to say to stop a probably innocent half-mad prison escapee from tackling you to murder someone? He knew Blaise was just bluffing, though he hoped that Black didn't. Probably none of them could duel as well as Black, even with back-up in the form of the rest of the Nocturne Group. Though maybe if they could stop him from getting a wand they'd have a chance? He wished there was a teacher nearby...

"Yes, Padfoot," said a new voice from the door. Stealing a quick glance toward it, Harry was relieved to see two tall figures followed by several smaller ones that he knew to be his friends. "These children were the first to look into whether you're actually guilty, and we owe them our thanks. Besides, it's about time we all grew up."

"Professor Lupin!"

* * *

"Remus!" exclaimed Black, "And Snive… _Severus_."

He actually corrected himself! Granted, it took Lupin glaring expectantly at him to convince him to do it, but still… Severus was surprised. Not an apology, but still…

But important things first. "You were secret keeper, Black. How did You-Know-Who find out Potter's whereabouts? If you answer that with the truth spell lit, we'll hand Pettigrew to the aurors and get your fugitive status overturned. You'll be a free man and back in society's good graces." He still felt Black's freedom was a bit unfortunate… Ah well. He'd let it be for Lupin and Harry's sake, he supposed. He kind of owed them this much at least.

"Just answer his question, Sirius." Lupin urged wearily, muttering a spell that lit a green orb of light at the tip of his wand before handing it handle-first to the fugitive. The light would extinguish or dim if the holder told a lie. It was the least offending test they had. As much as Severus wanted to douse Black with Veritaserum, he doubted Black would agree to it. At the moment the truth was more important. "Believe it or not, but we're all trying to help you here, Severus included. Killing Peter won't help anyone now, but with him alive you can live normally again."

Black sighed. "James, Peter and I arranged to replace me with Peter as secret keeper in private. I was the one who convinced him to do it. No one would suspect Peter, I thought! I could take the brunt of the Death Eater attention and Peter could be safe! When I – when I saw the news that Halloween, I thought Peter had been tortured. It was only when I got to his house and he started to run from me that I understood - If only we knew…"

Black broke down into sobs at this point, and Lupin was at his friend's side in two strides. Severus turned away as Lupin took Black into his arms and began to whisper some comforting assurances or the likes. "Where is Pettigrew? We need to take him to the Aurors for questioning."

It was Hermione Granger who produced the stiff rat – immobilized? Severus transfigured a piece of wood into a silver cage and magically strengthened it before shoving the rat into it, stunning Pettigrew just to be sure. That done, he began to corral the students toward the tunnel. It would've been safer for Black to stay here, but from the way the man glared at him it clearly wasn't going to happen. He didn't trust Severus to keep his word. Which was fine by him. '_Your funeral, Black.'_

There was very little chatter as they passed through the tunnel. Black, Lupin and Harry spoke quietly among themselves, but only for a little while. Ron Weasley still looked shaken from the discovery that his pet was actually a wizard playing dead. Severus's mind was split between watching Pettigrew and an endless replay of the events that led up to this moment. The students had all but dragged himself and Lupin out of their respective offices. They'd apparently worked out a Marco Polo style system of spark signals and left Boot at the whomping willow to communicate. They'd looked surprised when Lupin whipped out his map instead, but apparently they already knew it existed.

After some questioning, Severus discovered that they'd chosen himself and Lupin as their 'rescuer' for very particular reasons. Lupin, because he was friends with Black and unlikely to let Black get taken into custody without hearing him out. Himself, because they trusted him.

So even the students believed that Black should get the benefit of the doubt. Now, Severus had to grudgingly accept. As irresponsible, arrogant, self-centered the man was, he'd never been a traitor.

What happens now? Severus thought, strolling out into the starlight. He'd take the rat to his office and call the Aurors there. Then he'd see that the students make it back to their respective common rooms – curfew had started fifteen minutes ago, after all. And then probably fix himself a nice drink. He deserved it.

There was suddenly a small commotion behind him. "Professor Lupin, are you ok?"

'_Don't tell me he didn't…' _Severus swore. "Everyone get behind me! He's a werewolf!"

For a moment he was afraid that the children would freeze up in shock, but thankfully they all moved right away. The scramble to reach him, however, temporarily blocked his sight of Lupin. Severus tried to peer past the moving bodies, his wand at ready. He thought he saw Black transform into his dog form in his peripheral vision, getting ready to fight the wolf –

And then the world was plunged into an eerie, icy darkness. Fog started to obscure his vision.

Dark, tattered shadows began to emerge between the trees, bearing down on all of them.

'_Damn it, not now!'_

"Expecto patronum!" His doe patronus burst forth in a bright flash of white, encircling their party and offering some temporary reprieve. But while she could defend them, to stand here until they all get picked off by a rampaging werewolf was not an option. Attempting to move everyone toward the castle was too risky – it was too easy to lose somebody. They needed to go on the offensive …

His doe was joined by another. Severus watched with surprise as the silver stag charged the dementors, finally convincing them to back off for good.

"Great casting, Harry!" he heard Greengrass say.

The boy looked down modestly. "It's all thanks to Professor Lupin,"

"Where _is_ Lupin?" Severus turned, not yet daring to breath a sigh of relief. Beside him, Black barked, looking equally confused.

"Hey, where's Sal?" Nott suddenly yelled.

"Down here! I'm alright!" A small figure clambered out from the shadows. It seemed she'd merely fallen into a bush. "By the way, I saw Professor Lupin run away. I think he remembered to take his potion after all."

Did he? Severus's eyes narrowed. But he saw Lupin's symptoms before the transformation with his own eyes! There could be no mistake… "Let's get out of the forest," he muttered.

He'd missed something just now. He was sure of it. And Lupin had better give him an answer in the morning.

* * *

**A.N.:** **Sorry that it took so long! I wanted to make sure that I don't get a writer's block sometime during the ending, so I typed up the next three chapters before posting this one. I've also started a choose-your-own-adventure story based on Hamlet on www. starcatcher. org, which has been really helpful for writing the psychological aspects of the year 3 ending (...spoilers?). **

**Anyways, since I now have chapters backed up, I can promise that the next update will be in a week :D ****Next up, the explanation for how Lupin was made "safe" in less than a second...**


	65. Year 3: Chapter 17

When Remus saw the full moon and felt the all-too-familiar tingle, he knew he'd made a grave mistake.

He'd been putting off drinking the potion, thinking that he'd do it after supper. But then when Anthony Goldstein barrelled into his office yelling that Sirius had kidnapped a student and that Harry had gone after him, he'd left in such a hurry that he'd completely forgotten about it! Grimacing, he tried harder than ever to fight the wolf that was getting out, but he knew it would be futile as the pain intensified. He just hoped they could keep him from hurting anyone –

Then, abruptly, it stopped.

Remus blinked in confusion. He looked up to search the sky for the full moon, only to find himself staring at a bright, blue sky and a golden sun. '_W-what in Merlin's name –'_

"Er, Professor? I think there's something I should tell you. This is a time turner."

Remus looked down at the source of the voice: a sheepish-looking Hermione Granger, holding an odd golden device. Belatedly, he noticed that its thin gold chain was looped around his neck. "The Ministry lent it to me so that I can get to all my classes. It can take you back in time for a couple of hours at a time, see. I took us back to late-afternoon, so you won't transform for another three hours, right?"

"Thank you, Hermione! That was genius." Time travel!

So all those times he'd thought she disappeared or, silly as it was, apparated across the school… It all made sense now. "And you've been using this very often?"

"Em… Well… You see, they said I was only supposed to use it to take my classes,"

Remus raised an eyebrow and couldn't help but smile knowingly. He could see where this was going.

"A-and… maybe a little bit to finish my homework, and do some extra reading,"

"Un-huh," Remus nodded along. But who could blame her? If he had a time turner he'd want to use it too. _Especially_ back when he was in school. It was a good thing nobody ever let the Marauders get their hands on one.

"… And maybe a little bit of other things too," she quailed. "You won't get me into trouble, would you Professor? They made me promise I wouldn't tell anybody I have it too. It was supposed to be a secret."

Remus chuckled. "Don't worry, my lips are sealed," Then, just because he was feeling mischievous, "Marauder's honour."

Today was such a wonderful day!

Well, it was sad to discover that Peter had turned against them, but a warm, hopeful feeling bloomed in his chest nevertheless. He'd been alone for so long, and now he had a living friend again! He couldn't wait to get the legal business sorted. Then he might take a year or two off from teaching, just so that he could make sure he could help Sirius adjust. While he greatly enjoyed being a Professor, Sirius was worth it. Sirius was worth anything.

And whatever he said before about attachment being unwise, he'd take it all back. If he'd never been friends with Sirius and James, he sincerely doubted he'd ever know joy as great as he felt now.

Now, it was time to go and drink that potion before he'd miss his chance again.

* * *

"… So then you just stayed in your office the whole night? And Granger went out to join us again later?"

"Yes," said Lupin. "Or at least that's what she told me. She had no reason to stick with me the whole afternoon. She mustn't be held accountable for revealing the secret, Severus! It was the only thing she could do under the circumstance."

So _that_, according to Lupin, was the big secret. A time turner, which explained all of Granger's mysterious disappearances as well.

Severus supposed he shouldn't even be surprised. _Technically_ not offered to students, time turners were something of an official secret to be negotiated between very exceptional students and their Heads of House. In each instance, no one was supposed to know save for the two parties involved - not even other professors. Severus only knew because he himself had given out a single time turner to one of his Slytherins, in his entire teaching career.

Lupin had not been privy to this information. Now that he knew, she was just another student to him. Well, perhaps a little bit special in the sense that she was Harry's friend.

For Severus, however, it was yet another _improbability_ to add to the rest of Granger's collection. '_That girl cannot be just an ordinary student. It's just too bloody unlikely - '_

A burst of flame appeared in his fireplace, leaving a piece of parchment in its place:

'_Please come to my office. The Aurors will arrive to collect your official testimony at 10am, if convenient. The password is Treacle Tarts._

_Albus.'_

Severus checked the clock. It was 9:45. He might as well get there early.

They might just have one other thing to discuss.

When he stepped past the gargoyles, however, he found that the headmaster's office was empty. Taking his usual place in the seat across Dumbledore's desk, Severus sighed and settled to wait.

"I know what you're thinking."

A voice from above …?

"Please keep what you know about that particular third-year to yourself, Severus."

That portrait in green! "Potion Master! I didn't know you were a headmaster as well."

"Advantage of location, Severus. People come and go from this office but they rarely ever have a reason to look upward," The Potion Master smiled easily from his chaise. "But no, I was not a headmaster. The school was hardly big enough to need a headmaster then. The four of us managed fine."

The four of us? And he was the first Hogwarts Potion Master, from the early days of the school, whose portrait was important enough to be hung in the headmaster's office… Severus gasped with sudden realization. "You're Salazar Slytherin."

The Potion Master – _Salazar_ – inclined his head.

Severus's mind was reeling. He'd been talking to the Slytherin founder all these years and he had no idea! He'd discussed potions with this portrait, taken advices from this portrait… bloody hell, he'd even snarked at this particular portrait! (Though to be fair, that last bit seemed to be mutual.) He'd almost blurted out an ineloquent "Why didn't you tell me?", but he could already imagine hearing the obvious reply of "because you never asked". All in that familiar tone he now identified as positively, stereotypically Slytherin.

And his suspicion about Granger, it was confirmed… "So she _is_ special, then? You take an interest in her too?" he ventured.

"Yes. Prodigious, talented, and willing to challenge rules that most take for granted. I do agree that she's very intriguing," Salazar steepled his fingers, "but then again, one might say mine is a _vested_ interest."

A vested interest? Could he possibly mean what Severus thought he meant? But of course, it would all make sense then. If she was being taught by _Salazar Slytherin _personally… "Why her? What did you s - _I mean_, could you tell me a bit more about her?"

A chuckle. "Albus once asked me that same question about you, Severus. And I said to him, 'Do you know what I said to Headmaster Black back then, when he asked about your own studies? I told him that your studies do not concern him as Headmaster.'"

Severus grimaced. "Dumbledore would probably love to hear all about her."

"Of course he would. Albus would love to know everything about everyone. But he doesn't need to, wouldn't you agree?"

"No, I suppose he doesn't."

It seemed Severus came here only to talk about Pettigrew after all. He'd be a fool to just interfere in Salazar's plans for no particular reason. Especially since he still hadn't figured out if that comment about confidentiality was subtle blackmailing or just a play on his sympathy.

And Dumbledore had his fingers in too many pies already.

* * *

'_Sirius Black cleared of all charges! Minister offers apology on behalf of predecessor!'_

'_Peter Pettigrew on trial for murder, espionage, obstruction of justice!'_

'_Peter Pettigrew sentenced to life in Azkaban!'_

Hermione folded the latest issue of the Prophet and set it down beside her breakfast plate.

So, it was all settled.

When she noticed Lupin going rigid in the moonlight, she'd immediately time turned him away from the influence of the full moon before he could transform. She then left him to his own devices, though she'd kept an eye on his movements once in a while via her own map. By evening, she left the castle once more to reconvene with the others in the forest. Passing the dementors had not been pleasant. She'd transformed, but a snake animagus form unfortunately offers less protection against dementors than what other animagi would enjoy. And she'd had to fight the urge to _get away_ from the creatures, and instead slither _towards_ the mass of shadows… Her respect for Black's escape from Azkaban grew.

The aurors had been quick to arrive after that. Pettigrew was rennervated and presumably questioned before twelve witnesses right there and then. (The students had been ordered to return to their common rooms with permission slips while this happened, but they all stayed around to eavesdrop). Then they took Pettigrew away without much fanfare. The news started rolling in the next day.

Black had asked Harry to live with him, and Harry had been thrilled. Though the Dursleys were more or less civil now, it still wasn't a completely comfortable co-existence.

Lupin probably had the same idea regarding moving in with Black, judging from his sabbatical announcement this morning.

It was convenient too that their misadventures in the forest gave her decent opportunities to get Lupin and Snape off her tail. Both of them saw too much about her to be simply glossed over. Thus, herrings were in order. Each of them would be allowed to uncover a small, expendable secret, just enough to distract them from pursuing the main trail further.

She'd meant for Lupin to learn about her time-turning from the start, and had deliberately appeared and disappeared when she knew Lupin was just around the corner. Some minor adjustments were necessary after the return of the Map to his possession, but not much. Lupin had been so busy watching for displays of her knowledge of the tunnel system and her mysterious teleporting ability that he'd stopped scrutinizing her with respect to other things – such as her magic and the patronus memory she'd removed.

For Snape, however, such a distraction obviously wouldn't suffice. He'd known her for much longer after all, and he _was_ a bit more perceptive. An explanation of a different sort would be necessary. A slightly bigger part of the truth and a slight bit of misdirection, to make her advanced training and her involvement with Slytherin House perfectly logical… And Severus bought it without even forcing her portrait to lie. The only potential downside, though this could really go either way, was that Severus now knew of her connection to Salazar Slytherin. It would have to be accounted for in their future interactions.

The mess of drama that dominated much of this year was finally drawing to a close. No more mysteries. Now, everything was all finally tying off into proper resolutions, and she could get back on track with her long term plans …

… right?

She was still missing something.

Something important. Something completely unrelated. A revelation she… had a feeling she might not like. But _what_?

If that thought made her slightly restless, nobody noticed. All her classmates were pretty anxious themselves over the upcoming exams. Hermione stuck to her old strategy of doing just well enough to be one of the best – at least, in subjects she liked. For Divination she was asked to gaze into a crystal ball and report her findings. Hermione made up something about seeing the inside of a tower, just because it was on her mind all the time these days, but she was sure it didn't pass muster.

Professor Lupin did indeed build an obstacle course containing a sample of all the creatures they'd discussed in class. Fortunately he sent students in one at a time, allowing Hermione to slam up her occulumency shields and overwhelm the boggart by willpower. She and Harry both finished with full marks.

A small part of her wondered if, had she permitted the boggart to take whatever form it pleased, she'd see the same thing as last time. A larger part admonished against the stupidity of pursuing that line of thought, so it was quickly dropped.

As the school year neared its end, so too did Tom Riddle's patience. She could tell that the Horcrux was gearing up to attempt possession, and she'd given it the impression of being "maneuvered" neatly into the right state of mind. Thus, the next time she fished it out of its transfigured prison for their daily "chat", she had armed herself with her old acacia wand rather than her new one.

'_Tom,' _She wrote, and dripped several drops of saline solution onto the pages.

'_**Sally! Are you crying? Is everything okay?'**_

'_I … I went to talk to Gloria today. I mentioned' _here she allowed one drop to fall on the words, blotching the ink, '_I mentioned how we weren't hanging out all that much anymore, and I told her all my feelings about wanting it to be like old times, and she said She said'_

'_**Sally, take a deep breath. Take your time… Now, tell me what Gloria said. Everything will be okay, I promise.'**_

'_She said she doesn't want to spend that much time with me! That we don't even have much in common! She said we don't like the same things, don't have much to talk about, aren't friends with the same people, and_

'_And I asked her if she even saw me as a friend while we were working together, then. And she got upset too and told me I'd monopolized enough of her time already! She said she had to work with me for the sake of the project and – and that I have no right to demand more –'_

Three more saline drops later, Tom replied.

'_**Sally, it doesn't matter what Gloria says. Everything will be alright.'**_

'_If you say so, Tom.'_

'_**Gloria doesn't matter. Trust me.'**_

'_I… I guess so, Tom.'_

'_**So what if she doesn't want you? You don't need her. It's not like you'll be alone without her. You still have me, for start.'**_

'_Exactly! I don't need her. You're a much better friend than her.'_

He was preparing to mobilize. Hermione scooted back and readied her wand. She'd wait long enough to see how he'd liberate himself from the constraint of the diary, and then she'd blast the horcrux with fiendfyre. Theoretically it should die when overwhelmed by the curse-fuelled flames. If not, there were a few other ways she'd like to try as well.

'_**And I'll always be with you, unlike those people.'**_

'_You've always been here for me, listened to me, gave me advices, never pushing me away… I don't think I need anyone but you, Tom!'_

'_**You don't need them. You have me.'**_

The layerings of charms and spells were shifting now. Some weakening, some distorting. The trust charm and the spell that she suspected would facilitate possession strengthened, and she could sense the soul move within – toward the surface, then finally starting to cross the solid boundary. The way it interfaced with the magic was intriguing. Did Voldemort spend a long time experimenting with this, or would a soul piece instinctively know?

But there was one spell that remained completely undisturbed, however. The one she couldn't guess the purpose of. It was definitely some sort of defence mechanism, probably a psychic one. She wondered what would happen if she tripped it.

'_I don't need them. I need you.'_

Satisfied, the soul piece finally emerged. It undulated like a black wave over the paper surface, exploring, searching, seeking perhaps the warm hand of a willing vessel. It soon faltered, not having found whatever it was looking for. The corners of Hermione's lips lifted.

'_**Sally, you trust me, right?' **_Words appeared again tentatively.

'_Of course I do, Tom… But Tom, there's one more thing I've been wondering.'_

'_**Yes, Sally?' **_He sounded rather short, impatient at having to indulge yet another inane request. Well, he was in for another surprise.

'_Did you know, Tom? What would happen if you split your soul?'_

The horcrux's reaction was almost comical. The pages shuddered as the wandering soul piece got yanked harshly back to the diary's interior. 'Tom' didn't even bother to reply, as he was too busy throwing up shields and activating defences in a disorderly frenzy. Panic was probably not an emotion he was used to.

Hermione waited, the word for _fiendfyre _on the tip of her tongue. She was curious what his last defence would be. Terror, perhaps? Or something similar to intoxication?

"Sal."

Whatever her guesses, she was not expecting to hear _this_ familiar voice.

_Godric_?

* * *

**AN: What do you think? I think several people anticipated the time turner plot **

**Next update is in a week...**


	66. Year 3: Chapter 18

**AN: Trigger alert on this chapter: depression and possibly self harm? Please skip to the end of the chapter if this would be a problem**

* * *

_Godric?_

Hermione carefully lifted her gaze away from the diary, to the three people that had appeared out of nowhere behind it.

Godric? Helga? Rowena?

"What is this? Some sort of projection?" she asked aloud. No, to call them projections would be inaccurate. The horcrux was not able to conduct legilimency – the very fact that it attempted to possess her earlier demonstrated his ignorance. Tom would not know about her previous life, which meant that all of this was inside her head.

"Exactly," said Rowena. She was as resplendent as ever, with just a hint of white in her hair at the temples and the faintest crow's feet at the corner of the left eye. Exactly as she had been when they'd last met in person... "You're hallucinating, Sal."

Interesting. But how was this useful to the horcrux at all? What did Tom mean to do? _Why are you here?_

"You know why it's making you see us, Salazar. We're your thoughts, remember? We know everything you know. You're just not admitting it – refusing to admit even this." It was Godric who spoke this time – or rather, Godric's image. But he looked so _real,_ down to the smallest detail! From the way his cloak hung carelessly over his shoulders, to the disgusted twitch at the corner of his lips when he perceived cowardice…

But she had _absolutely_ no idea what he meant. He was not making sense.

"I-I guess I'm here to apologize, Sal," said Helga, who had been wringing her hands uncertainly for a while.

_What do you mean, Helga? You did no wrong_. She'd given up trying to call them illusions created by her mind. Helga looked so lifelike, she might as well address her like such.

"I know, but still… I'm sorry."

_Why? You have nothing to be sorry for, Helga_!

Helga gave her a pained look.

She didn't like it. On that face it reminded her too much of the careful, tender expression of a healer at the bedside of a grievously ill patient.

"Are you happy, Sal?"

Still not making sense, but she'd seen enough. _Fiendfyr-_

"Fiendfyre?" Rowena raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're up to controlling _fiendfyre_ now, Salazar? You're pale as a sheet and there's a slight tremor in your fingers. Do you want to burn the whole school down?"

…_What? I don't know what you're talking about, Rowena._

But maybe… maybe not fiendfyre after all. It _was_ better to be safe.

"You've got to stop lying in your own head, Sal. You lie too much already," Godric chuckled darkly, "How's this: I'll tell you why you're hallucinating us, of all people. Little Tommy there couldn't get into your head to see your weakness, so he got clever and went for the next best thing. He made you show yourself what scares you or grieves you most instead."

_But I don't fear you, Godric._

"Of course you don't. What you fear is this honest discussion."

And he met her eyes with such a challenging intensity that Hermione had to drop her gaze.

"I don't like cowards, Sal. Would it _kill_ you to acknowledge why you always feel incomplete? Stars, you've told Tommy-boy more truth in a year than you've admitted to yourself in fifteen!"

How? She did _not_ –

"Yes you did, Sal, even if you both don't realize it," interjected Rowena, "Isn't this what you wrote in the horcrux? Once upon a time there was a youth named '_Sally'_. 'Sally' was fairly smart, not short on material comfort, ambitious, and quite accomplished… but also very lonely. Sure, there's been a fair share of acquaintances and associates who sought 'Sally' for some purpose, but very few friends. Sounds familiar yet?"

_Yes, _Hermione realized. _Hell_, _yes_...

"Then 'Sally' met 'Gloria', 'Rowley', and 'Henry', and they started a very big project… a _school_ project, I believe you wrote?" Rowena laughed, and her smile turned almost fond. "As they worked, they became the closest friends. Despite the toil and the struggle, it was the happiest time of 'Sally's' life – and probably the closest she'd ever come to fulfillment. There was a glorious challenge to overcome, and she was in the company of three friends almost as tight as family.

"But then the project was complete. Their goals had been achieved and then some more. Her friends one by one discovered greater joy in the company of another. Everybody basked in happiness, but not 'Sally'. And being unable to share that contentment, she began to feel like an intruder among her best friends – her only friends. She figured she was inconveniencing everybody just by being among them, and truthfully, she was. Everybody was trying to enjoy the perfect life that they'd worked so hard to earn, and 'Sally' was like a painful splinter. Out of place in their already completed worlds."

_Why, aren't you ever the rational one, Rowena. _Hermione thought, the bitterness surprising even herself. She vaguely noted that her acacia wand had begun to slip slowly through her fingers sometime ago.

"Oh Sal," Helga was peering down at her with pity now, "That was the real reason why you couldn't stay with us, wasn't it? Everybody thought you left us when you left the school… but it was us who left you behind in the first place."

It now fell with a clatter to the floor.

"I'm so, so sorry, Sal. Sorry that we grew apart. Sorry that we each found greater love and you were left alone. Sorry that you threw yourself into your work, hoping to find completeness after wrestling with just one more mystery, one more challenge, when you could never find it there."

_I still don't know what you're apologizing for, Helga... _But how was it that sympathy could hurt _so_ much?

"You built yourself into a tower, Salazar. The tallest there is, because that's just how you are. And you gave it impenetrable walls too, because you detest vulnerability. I- I guess I can see why you do - because how else would you keep your masterpiece standing? People admire its majesty with envy, but in reality, well… You've kept everyone else far away, and locked yourself inside. You did the best you could, but you were still vulnerable to fate and your own nature, Sal. You can only keep building higher and higher. But when you look upon all the happy, content people in the world through your spyglass it hurts you terribly."

_The tower! _No, that couldn't be it. She was hardly isolated from society. And who said she had to have a constant companion? She'd seen herself with a partner and a child in the Mirror of Erised, but that was just a boggart distortion. It wasn't _really _her so-called "heart's desire"…

"Sal…" Rowena shook her head chidingly, "Why else would you fear something that won't ever come true?"

… And she definitely wasn't jealous that her friends each found someone who'd stay with them till death, that they'd each found a love with whom to form a bond greater even than the one among themselves…

"And in the end you've ended up more alone than ever," Helga sighed, and grief was all too audible in her voice now. "Stuck in a wholly different time, in a body that's decades behind your mind, surrounded by people who cannot even begin to understand you. Alone, friendless –"

_But I have Esmeralda! _She protested once again, for the sake of protesting at the very least.

"Basilisks don't share the same emotional needs as humans, Sal," said Helga gently, "You know this."

… _and I have the portraits. Your portraits!_

"Not real, Sal. Just shadows of us."

… _Harry, Blaise, Daphne, Theo –_

"Dolls playing tea party, Sal! Puppets on your strings!" Rowena exclaimed. "You _made_ them attached to you so that you can spread your influence through them! Don't tell me you've played for so long that you're actually starting to believe your own act?"

Hermione shook her head defiantly. She _so_ wanted to tell them that they were absolutely _wrong_, but then she realized she'd run out of names.

She looked from face to face, and saw only compassion in their eyes now. But their pitying gazes felt like daggers to her heart. There was nowhere to hide, and nothing to hide anymore... And _hell_, she felt the pain now. All the aches and chills that had been buried deep within her - so deep and so well, she'd thought she could pretend they didn't exist - were now impossible to ignore. Ripped open, laid bare.

_Would _it kill her to acknowledge the truth?

_What do you want? _Anger, embarrassment and a dozen other unidentifiable emotions churned in her, toward herself and toward fate. _What in the seven hells would you fucking have me do?!_

"Why don't you come and join us, Sal?" Rowena whispered.

_Join you?_

"You know exactly how I mean. You won't find completeness in this life, Sal. You'll try and try and carry on as you always do, but some part of you will always be hollow. Why stick around anyways?"

_I… _

But that was a remarkably interesting question_._

"Don't you ever get tired of this inane puppet show? It's just going to go on, and on, and on. What's the point of it all?"

There was a special dagger in her bag. An elaborate one, with a heavy, beautifully carved handle of obsidian and a polished sheath of jade. Not much good in a fight, but quite suitable for… other purposes. But the problem was that the sheath was charmed as a protection measure not to open unless she was _sure_ what she wanted.

The blade was coated with venom, after all, and a single scratch would be irreversible.

"Scared, Sal?" Godric raised an eyebrow. "It's not as if you weren't ready to say goodbye to the world back then already. It wasn't recklessness that made you drink a potion you knew was very likely to kill you, was it?"

_The reincarnation potion was a scientific experiment –_

"Sure it was," said Rowena appeasingly.

_Of course it was! _Damn you, damn you Rowena...

"And so is this. Have you ever wondered how it feels when basilisk venom courses through the human body? No one's ever documented it, you know. Would it be fast? Slow? A searing fire through your veins? Or a gentle, gradual wave-front of numbness as feeling leaches away? Are you not the least bit curious, Sal?"

_Probably searing, and carried by the bloodstream, _Hermione thought detachedly. It was nice to have something else to think about other than the freshly dug hole in her heart. _But there's the magical component as well, which can't be discounted. It would take two minutes, five minutes tops…_

Grasping the handle, she pulled. She was met with resistance, but she simply strained against it harder -

"_Sal? Is everything alright out there? I thought I smelled…" _Esmeralda's uncertain voice floated out from the statue.

"_Stay where you are, Esmeralda!"_

Something about her voice must not have reassured the basilisk very much.

"…_Fine, but at the first sign of trouble I'm coming out!"_

"She won't stop you in time," she thought she saw Rowena give a shrug. "At the first smell of blood the deed would already be done."

It didn't matter. Hermione was hardly listening to her now. The resistance had yielded.

The dagger slid from its sheath soundlessly. Venom on the blade glistened in the dim green light, a smooth, flawless lacquer over gleaming steel, and she stared at it in fascination as she carefully, _reverently_ moved the dagger in front of her.

"It wouldn't take much," murmured Godric, "a simple slit on the wrist should be enough. No complications at all."

"Do it, Sal." Helga bowed her head, "We'll be waiting for you on the other side."

The dagger hovered. Her heart raced.

"And maybe we'll all be together again, forever."

The dagger plunged.

…

…

A scream echoed through the chamber. Godric, Rowena, and Helga vanished in a blink as a black mist rose up and then disappeared. Hermione pulled the envenomed dagger from the now ruined diary and returned it to its sheath.

Tears mixed with the seeping ink.

* * *

**AN: Chapter synopsis: The protective charm on Tom's diary caused Sal's mind to attack itself with her darkest thoughts. Sal's natural persuasiveness and a few suppressed emotional wounds made for a dangerous combination, leading to a "to be or not to be" moment. But she destroyed the diary in the end. **

**(To avoid accidentally ruining someone's mood and productivity, I've waited until after most people have gone home from work/school**** before posting this)**

**I've been looking through your lovely reviews, and I think a number of people were expecting this partially? I've left a lot of hints throughout year 3 so hopefully this isn't too abrupt. **

**Hopefully I didn't put too many people off with this chapter either! It's quite different from the tone of the previous two years. But it's also the lowest point in the story, so nothing like this will appear again. **

**Next chapter will be posted within the week ...**


	67. Year 3: Chapter 19

"…_Sal?"_

Silly Tommy. Of course she'd at least rid the world of the horcrux first. What kind of pathetic excuse of a dark lord would she be if she'd allowed half a scrap of soul to gloat over her as she perished under her own blade?

(Except she really was pathetic. Disgustingly so. For being reduced to a quivering wreck hunched over on the floor of her own chamber, for losing control over a mere reminder of the _stupidest_ of weaknesses, for considering suicide in the first place - )

"_Sal,"_

Not that Voldemort had any idea what he was doing. But damn him for actually managing to strike a nerve in his blundering! She could see exactly what he did now. Hallucination with a strong psychic encouragement for all negative thoughts. Which would actually be pretty ineffective most of the time since he'd have no idea or control over what the attacker would see.

(But so excruciatingly devastating for duplicitous, silver-tongued wimps hiding behind polished facades. That, she could attest to.)

The air around her was beginning to heat and cackle, like static before a lightning strike.

(Runaway magic? How deplorable. What was she, nine?)

So direct it toward a sacrificial target. Allow it to destroy, but don't bring the tunnel down. Conjure glass. Form matters not. Conjure. Shatter. Pulverize. Repeat –

The glass blocks and vases had barely finished materializing when they exploded in spectacular, glittering fireworks. Shards swirled around her like a maelstrom, faster and faster as they shattered again and again into smaller bits. What little that got close enough to brush by her skin felt like coarse sand, and soon that was all that was left around her. A thick circle of glistening sand and dust and…

"_Sal. Are you alright?"_

…and damn it why won't these tears stop falling?

* * *

Esmeralda found it difficult to remember the last time she'd felt worried for Sal. It was not that she did not care about the wizard's well-being. It was just that for the longest time, she'd regarded her Teacher as invincible. Just like the opinions that the little serpents in the vicinity seemed to have toward her.

There were a few times – Five? Or Seven? – a long time ago, when her Teacher had returned smelling of exhaustion and open wounds. Those occasions had not concerned Esmeralda, since she knew Sal would be back to normal after some time in the bathtub with medicine water. But today, Esmeralda had become acquainted with a new scent that she'd never expect from her Teacher.

There were tears of sadness this time. And now Esmeralda was worried, because she had no idea what would happen to Sal next.

When that awful shrieking noise came to her ears, Esmeralda had kept her words and went out to check on Sal at once. Her Teacher seemed scared, shaking and huddled in on herself in a fashion almost reminiscent of a frightened small herbivore. Glass was flying everywhere, though Esmeralda knew it was probably Sal's own doing. Did she momentarily forget that her soft, scaleless human skin could be easily damaged by the rough, sharp pieces? But Esmeralda could tell that Sal was probably oblivious to most anything at the moment. Everything but the sadness.

"_Sal. Are you alright?" _Esmeralda asked again, and the glass pieces finally settled.

What could have caused her Teacher – her brilliant, invincible Teacher - to fall into such a state? The other serpents thought Esmeralda was invulnerable too, but Esmeralda knew very well that she was not. A single crow of a rooster could kill her. She'd always thought it a bit funny. Such an innocuous thing for everyone else, yet it was fatal weakness to her. Perhaps, Esmeralda realized, Sal had just found her own rooster song.

Esmeralda would like to protect her Teacher from whatever it was, but Sal's rooster song seemed to be one audible only to herself. She settled for gliding forward and carefully wrapping herself around Sal like she'd seen the smaller serpents do for their young. She still wasn't entirely sure what the gesture did – to her it was merely a very loose stranglehold, but she'd surmised that it was meant to be protective and comforting.

Sal seemed to appreciate it, and chuckled a bit between sniffles. "_A hug, Esmeralda? Thank you."_

Esmeralda took some time to ponder the new word, _hug_, as she felt her Teacher shift and lean gently into her side. Sal sighed, and Esmeralda was content to stay in that position with her until she no longer felt the tiny drip drop of moisture on her scales. It was the least she could do for the Teacher she admired.

"_How did you manage, Esmeralda?" _Sal whispered, "_All those centuries, left here alone and peerless to teach and watch over the school and the other serpents. How did you do it, when I can't even handle loneliness for a few measly decades?"_

Esmeralda considered. "_I suppose I just…did, Sal. I enjoy spending time with you greatly. Your company is mentally stimulating in ways that would not be possible when I'm on my own, and it makes me very happy to see you again after a thousand years. When you're not here, I spend more time thinking and observing and let the time pass." _It wasn't the same as when her dear Teacher was here, but it felt like an acceptable way of living to Esmeralda.

But Esmeralda was solitary by nature. It made sense for her, since it was rare enough for one basilisk to exist let alone two in the same millennium. Sal, despite being the greatest of Teachers, was human.

Esmeralda could only guess at how that would feel.

* * *

After the horcrux and the glass storm, the silence in the marbled hall was more noticeable than ever.

Hermione was slowly becoming aware of a numbness in her left leg from kneeling on the cold stone floor. Her chestnut chair inside would be more comfortable, but she didn't think she could bear to see the portraits without bursting into tears again. Not yet. She'd have to stay here for a while longer, long enough to prepare herself to go back out and soldier on. And she was very grateful to Esmeralda for her presence.

They – her friends, the hallucinations, her thoughts, whatever – they were wrong about her "experiment" with the reincarnation potion. It was not absolution in death that she'd sought when she drank the could-be poison. (Although, she had to admit that the idea of fading away into blissful unawareness… hadn't been unwelcomed.)

No, what she'd been chasing was hope.

When she'd first developed the hypothesis, she'd seen a glimmer of a second chance at happiness. A second chance to _live_. She'd simply had to pursue it. And so she'd pulled out all the stops, worked with almost reckless abandon, and willingly crossed into the realm of death in hope of a _possibility_ that she'd be born again. All for the smallest hint of hope.

And now, in this second life, she'd have that hope again. It didn't matter how things looked today, or how things would look tomorrow. As long as she lived to see the day, there was always a chance that she would be happy. There would be uncertainty, of course. Perhaps a small one, perhaps a larger one. 50% +/- 50%.

But that was alright. A chance was all the reason she needed.

Although, hallucination-Godric was correct. It was high time for her to come to terms with her own warring desires. She saw now, very clearly, that shunting half of it away in the hope that it would go away in time was not a good strategy. She wanted - needed - companionship. She needed love. Someone to share her heart with. And if that was a weakness, then it seemed it would be a necessary one.

It was ironic that in attempting to destroy her, Tom had provided her a timely warning. It was the same that Baron Edmund had been hinting at back when she'd first arrived as Hermione Granger, but the necessity hadn't truly hit home until now. Ever since recovering her memories, she'd been so focused on rebuilding her tower, on resurrection, that she'd forgotten that the true value of the opportunity was rebirth. The chance to start over.

This time around, she would try not to – no, she absolutely _refused_ to become the same jaded lord who turned to dust alone in his castle. This time around, she would not build the same tower, as formidable as it may be. This time around, she would leave a door. Or at least bring someone up with her.

So perhaps the next time someone comes close to figuring her out, she just might lower her mask just a little. A small leap of faith ought to be a fair exchange for a little bit of realness in the midst of the masquerade and puppet show, yes? And her fellow students and the Nocturne Group… although she couldn't call them peers, she could definitely call them _friends_. Perhaps she should give them a chance to catch up, then. As interesting as time travel was, perhaps it should be a plan for later. After all, there were always other ways to obtain a time-turner.

And perhaps it was now time to clean up her face and go back out. Leave the safety and privacy of these stone walls. Face the music. Then she'd modify her timetable with McGonagall and return the time-turner. And then write a nice letter home to her parents. And then find the Baron to thank him. And then she could consider why the half a scrap of soul that came out of the dying horcrux was far too small to be all that was missing from the main part… but that was a thought and a plan for later.

Now, it was time for Hermione to live.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for your reviews on the previous chapter! Mastermind17 (my beta) and I spent a long time editing it, so I'm glad it turned out well :)**

**Notes on romance: (Thank you very much for voting!)**

**Quite a few people voted "no pairing". I'm sorry to say this won't be possible after the recent chapters, but I can promise that most of the romance plot involving Sal would be subtle. I also promise the following:**

**\- Sal won't date anybody under 20, at least not until they turn 20. (To clarify, Sal's mental age is 55, which is about the same age as Voldy) However, her classmates might still crush on her**

**\- Sal isn't the type to fantasize all day about somebody's lips or swoon over someone's hot bod. She's more likely to obsessively stalk her love interest, worry unnecessarily over their wellbeing, worry about their opinions, etc.**

**As for the other love interests in the shortlist, I've decided to include all of them in the romance plot to different extents (except Daphne, who I've replaced with another lady). The order and prominence of the pairings have been largely determined by the poll and your reviews. There's no such thing as love at first sight after all, so Sal would have to trial and error like anybody else before she finds the love of her life. **

***Note: Since we have a man reincarnating as a woman, I don't think it's possible for this story to be perfectly gen no matter what I do. Just so that people know what they're getting into...**

**Next chapter concludes year 3**


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